Feral Magic (7 page)

Later,
he whispered on a feline-only spurt of telepathy, more symbols than words.

The cats sneered at them, Gypsy flicking his tail in a crass gesture, the other actually turning his back and sitting down to groom his ass.

When Dak got into the house, Brandy was putting together a contraption next to the dining room table, and took Favel from his arms, setting him into the thing.  "What's that?" growled Dak.

"A highchair for feeding babies."  She glanced at him, away, as if nervous.  "I'll get food, I guess you'll need it."  She cleared her throat.  "You eat vegetables, and, um, potatoes?  Most guys love meat and potatoes here..."  The words rushed from her.

He checked his appearance.  He'd dressed fast and hadn't noticed a small slice in the leather over his ribs, blood stained the cut.

"I am fine," he said, glad she couldn't see his ear which continued to mend.

"I don't understand you," she said, pale now, as if her blood had drained to some other part of her body.  He could hear her heart beating faster.

He inclined his body in a small bow.  He'd noticed that gesture always seemed to intrigue her.  "The feeling is mutual."

"You are a...warrior, used to fighting all the time," she stated the obvious.

"That is correct."

"But you do not hurt others who don't attack you?"  Her voice rose a little.  She went to the cold box that hummed and kept food fresh and drew out a sack of something, dumped
frozen
stuff in a bowl and put it in another technological box and punched beeping buttons.  This one whirred and he sensed heat waves within it.

And then he knew he'd hesitated too long as she watched him warily.  "Our rules governing feuds allow me – all my people – to attack the white tigers at will."  He took the stride to her, stroked a strand of her hair back from her face, the texture so thick, so smooth, so different than shapeshifter fur.

"You know I will never hurt you.  You have my word, and have treated me and my nephew so well.  I would die for you," he added simply.

Her eyes got even wider.  She touched the slice in his leather.  "You're already healed, faster than a human – a non-shapeshifting person."  She shook her head.  "Even though that is a great," she swallowed, "a very great advantage, I don't want you injured for me.  Don't
want
you to die for me."  She stared away from him, past him, somewhere he couldn't see her thoughts.  He didn't like that.

After a long moment, she swallowed, glanced at him, grimaced at more thoughts he couldn't follow.  Her voice lowered.  "I'd much rather you lived...joyfully."

His body tightened at her words, her aura impinging on his, the sensation of attraction rippling between them, doubling and redoubling.  He wanted the woman.  But she was one, alone.  An orphan with no family.  To take advantage of such a one would be dishonorable.  If she wished more from him than sex – expected more from him – he could not possibly give it to her.

She stared at him and a large breath sighed from her.  She stroked his face with feather touches and he stood, let his desire show.  And waited more minutes before she curved her hands around his face and stared into his eyes, her gaze as blue as a deep water lake.  She wet her lips and his groin clenched with need.

"I know that what might pass between us might be short.  But it would be so sweet, Dak. We could make it joyful," she whispered.  "Say –"

The infernal food machine buzzed, and she flinched.  Favel gave an irritated baby roar from the other room, close to changing into cub form to escape the chair.

Her breasts rose as she inhaled another deep breath and withdrew her touch from his face.  "Later.  We'll...connect...later."

Dak feared he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of more of her touches, of the prospect of sliding into the silky warm tightness of her body.

*~*~*

After eating the surprisingly good food, Dak let Brandy take Favel up to her bedroom to rock into sleep.  Dak decided to confront the house cats.  Best to handle them in panther form. 

The moon helped him change quickly, mending more of his wounds.  By the time he changed back, his ear would be whole.  Excellent for listening to Brandy's quickened breathing if they mated – no, if they pleasured each other during sex.

He'd opened the door with hands before he changed, then sauntered out to the backyard, stretching his form luxuriously, twitching his whiskers at the smell of flowers and herbs and the groundcover he padded over.

As expected, the cats noticed him.

You are staying!
  The black and white cat, Tom-Tom, sounded outraged.  He sat, tail wrapped around paws, eyes slitted.

Dak felt a smug cat smile form. 
Yes, I am.  And for as long as I am here, you had better mind your actions around me or you will go missing.
  He extended the claws of his right forepaw, examined them.  No blood. 
Two bites would take care of you.

The cat's eyes widened.  He shrank a bit, but did not stand and hiss or leave.

You wouldn't do that!
the long furred black said.  He stood at the edge of Dak's vision.  Not from strategy, but just because he liked the plant patch he squashed.  It smelled great.

We are beautiful and an asset to all!
Tom-Tom said.

Ten thousand cats look just like you, Tom-Tom,
Dak said.

The cat huffed. 
That is not so.  Brandy says I'm beautiful and I AM.  She likes My black tail and white rump especially.

Brandy loves Us.  She says so all the time,
Gypsy said.

Tom-Tom – such a stupid name – fixed his yellow gaze on Dak. 
Brandy would be...not content if you harmed Us.

Not happy,
Gypsy agreed.

But they had both stilled, trying to wrap their little minds around what Brandy's love meant.  They were cats.  Their love for her was different than a human's or a shapeshifter's.

If she disappeared they'd be scared and confused...until they found a new person to care for them or learned to live on their own.  Then they wouldn't really remember her, perhaps only the echo of a lost love.  If they managed to follow a thought, they'd think Brandy would feel the same.

Dak had the advantage, but kept his triumphant purr rumbling inside, too low for the creatures to hear.  He knew full well that Brandy would grieve for the animals, would throw
him
out if she found out he ate her cats.  Maybe even if she thought he considered eating the cats.

He wasn't a cat eater unless in dire straits, in true danger of death or starvation.  With only one exception:  the White Tiger Klatch.

But these cats didn't know that.  He rippled his back in a shrug.

They backed down.  Gypsy lowered himself into the plants as if he could hide below the bent stems that ringed him – black in gray-green.  Dak snorted amusement.

Tom-Tom glanced aside and lifted a forepaw to lick his pads. 
You do not smell as bad as the young one.  You have some sense.

You do not smell as bad as the young one,
Gypsy said.

The young one is MINE,
Dak said, this time adding a threatening rumble. 
You touch him and I will rip your guts out.  Brandy loves HIM, too.

Since they didn't know whether this was true or not, they ignored it.  Tom-Tom stood; Dak saw the flash of calculation in his eyes as to whether he should do a casual, vulnerable, stretch.  He didn't.  He sidled away, tail up and waving – something Dak couldn't do – but the cat kept his gaze on Dak until he was through the pet door and in the house. 
We will let you stay.

When Dak slid his gaze toward Gypsy, the cat was slinking in the shade to the back gate and out into the alley.

Dak had won.

Against small and puny predators.

Still, it felt good.

*~*~*

Throughout the day, Brandy watched the dimensional gate locator on the dining room table.  The ruby was dark, or blinked off and on as the thing moved out of distance, or glowed a sluggish red.  Not stable enough, Dak said, for them to find and go through.

Later that evening, after they'd all eaten, Brandy put up the pen in a corner of the living room.  Dak turned it upside down over the baby.  Even so, Favel seemed to find it comforting

Brandy sat next to Dak, both of them sipping wine.  He liked it, and had no standard guy-ideas about Zinfandel.  She wondered how he'd like a beer.  But though he looked like a tough guy, with his build and his usually serious face, he'd been a regent, a stand-in for a king.  So he would be accustomed to the best of the best of his land.  Unlike her.

As she tried to answer all his questions about her culture – with the help of her trusty tablet computer – attraction spun between them and she knew he'd want to have sex.

Since she did, too, she'd already made the decision.  A good step, showing she was healed more than she'd thought.

And she knew they would.

Dak reached over and closed the cover of her tablet, sliding the computer’s switch off.  "It's later."

"Yes," she agreed.  Heat flooded her.  Swallowing, she glanced away from him and at the inverted playpen where Favel snuffled in his sleep, hugging a stuffed doggie toy that Dak had produced from his appearing and disappearing pack.

"He'll be fine."  Dak frowned.  "Probably will sleep through the night."  Dak reached out and stroked her hair, played a little with the ends, brushing her neck with his fingers, tantalizing, teasing.

Brandy's nerves quivered and sent delightful sensation down to her core where she grew hot and damp.  Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples peaking.  She angled herself toward Dak, slid her fingers into his hair. It was thick and long and coarser than she'd expected.  She prided herself that she fed her own cats properly enough that their fur was silky.

Then his lips came down on her and she experienced the man – the heat of his mouth on hers, nibbling her lips, then brushing them with his tongue.  Moistness.

She opened her mouth, let his tongue explore the recesses; his taste blew her mind away, so unique, so different.  She sucked on him to get every complex tang – echoes of the wine, but more, more of the man and of the man-cat than she'd ever imagined.  The sweet taste-smell of high grass in the summer, baking grains, a richness that spoke of another land.  Welcome, sexy heat.

A small chirrup sounded and the man withdrew, leaving her wanting, breathless.  She blinked twice, heard the noise again.  Her eyes focused at the baby in the playpen, slurping a little on his fist in his sleep, punctuating with the occasional huff or short purr.

"He is safe.  All is well."  Dak tilted his head.  "The magical wards I placed are strong and active."  His eyes turned to hers – black round iris showing only a rim of dark purple.  He wanted her, too.

Her body clenched with need.  She swallowed.

"We can take this time to pleasure each other."  He bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers.  "This small treasure of time."

"Yes."  It wasn't smart, and she was getting dangerously attached to the pantherman, but she would regret it for the rest of the life if she didn't make love with him, no matter the hurt later.

"The bed, upstairs."  Dak's voice rumbled low and rough.

"Yes."  Another swallow.

He scooped her up and she felt how strong he was, the steel of his arms around her, the slab of his chest she leaned against.  Listening to his heart pump fast made her pulse leap, too.

The stairs weren't wide, especially for a big man like him, but he managed them – carrying her – with ease.

In her bedroom, he set her gently on her feet, staring at her.   "I do not know your clothing's fastenings."

She thought he fibbed.  He'd have no problem taking her clothes off, but if he wanted to watch her undress she was willing.  She wet her tongue and felt a low vibration from him, almost too low to hear.  Staring at the tunic stretched across his wonderful chest, trying to keep her eyes from straying down to the straining fly of his pants, she said, "That's all right.  I'll undress you."  Didn’t look hard.

"And yourself," he rumbled.  "First."

"And myself first."  She pulled her black tank from her own jeans, drew it off over her heat-damp and sensitized skin.  Her bra was thin enough that the slight drag of materials hardened her nipples into nubs.  She pressed her lips together to stop the moan at sweet arousal.  Tossing the tank aside, she unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, slipped them off with a wiggle that earned a low, growling purr.  Her breath came unsteadily.  When she glanced up from kicking her jeans away, she saw Dak's long, slow study from her feet to her face, lingering on the juncture between her thighs, her breasts, then meeting her eyes.

His face showed a flush.  Her mind dulled with desire, with the needs of her body, with her fingers to touch, her skin to rub against his, her core empty and demanding fulfillment.

Need.

Her body was alive with it.

She unsnapped her bra, a little gasp as the material rubbed against her nipples, and she slid from her panties.  His nostrils flared and embarrassed heat rose to her cheeks, flushed her breasts.  He could smell her arousal.  But he was leaning slightly forward, as if he wanted to pounce.  That must be good.   She trembled.  She'd never trembled from pure physical desire before.

Though her knees felt soft, she took the two steps to him, slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his pants and grabbed the bottom of his shirt.  His skin was damp, too, from perspiration.  She peeled the top up his body, noting the spread of hair, dark and fine and light in his man form.  His tiny nipples were hard and she scraped her thumbnails over them.  He jerked beneath her hands and now she could smell him, too.  The tang of him she had no words for.

He ducked out of the shirt and she threw it aside. She let her fingers trail down his neck, brushing his hair back and skimming her fingers down his shoulder, along the carved curve of his biceps as he slowly straightened before her.

She could
hear
herself breathe, fast, choppy.  Needy.