Hakan Severin (11 page)

“Doing what?” His teeth sank into the flesh where her neck met her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “This?”

She clutched at his T-shirt, sheer bliss flowing through her like molten lava.

“Unfair,” she moaned.

He used his tongue to ease the tiny wound. “Then say yes,” he commanded.

“Yes.”

There was a tension-charged pause, as if Hakan couldn’t quite believe he was hearing her right. Then, with an explosion of movement, Payton found herself swept off her feet and carried back into the house.

“Thank the Goddess,” he muttered as he headed toward a staircase that led to the upper floor.

“What about dinner?” Payton teased even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest.

Her hunger had nothing to do with lasagna.

He lifted her up to brand her lips with a kiss that made her toes curl and her core clench with raw, joyous anticipation.

He spoke against her lips. “You can consider me the appetizer.”

“I do want to lick you from top to bottom,” she repeated his words back to him, her claws already extended as she sliced her mating mark down the length of his back. “With several long stops in between.”

He stumbled on the stairs, nearly falling on his face.

“Holy shit, Payton.”

She offered him a wicked smile, fiercely pleased by the stunned expression on her mate’s face.

“I think there might be more than one way to make you suffer.”

Hiss opened his eyes, not surprised to discover he was strapped to a gurney.

Fuck.

He’d known when he escaped with the well-dressed Englishman that it was a trap. Still, he’d been willing to take the chance that he could discover the truth of his family before he died.

But minutes after sneaking out of the Wildlands the bastard had injected him with pure malachite, knocking him unconscious.

He had a few weird-ass memories of being icy cold, followed by the unmistakable stench of smoke, but he’d been floating in and out of a black, clinging fog so he couldn’t be sure if it had been real or a figment of his imagination.

Now at last his body had burned through the malachite and he could take in his surroundings with a clear brain.

It was dark. And musty. Like a basement or cellar.

No, wait.

His eyes adjusted enough that he could see the long cabinets with stainless steel counters, along with the sort of equipment that went with a medical lab.

Not a hospital…the place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in the past decade.

Maybe an old government facility.

Straining against the chains that bound him to the gurney, Hiss abruptly stilled as he caught the sound of a door opening.

“Who’s there?” he snarled, his gaze searching the darkness. “Dammit, you promised me answers, you cowardly bastard.”

The soft sound of a woman’s voice came from one of the tall, metal cabinets.

“Shh.”

Hiss scowled, trying to lift his head off the gurney. Was this another trick?

“Show yourself,” he commanded.

“No, do not look in this direction,” the mystery woman commanded, cracking the door of the cabinet just far enough to reveal a slender female form.

“Why not?”

“You’re on camera.”

Hiss’s gaze flicked toward the ceiling, easily locating the blinking red light in the far corner.

“Yeah, that’s no big newsflash,” he said.

“I don’t want them to realize I’ve found you,” she whispered.

On the point of telling her to go to hell, Hiss caught an unmistakable scent.

The female was Pantera.

God. Damn.

“Are you another prisoner?” he rasped, jerking his head so his gaze was fixed on the ceiling.

There was no way in hell he was going to endanger her by allowing his guards to realize anyone had entered the lab.

“Yes.”

The voice was textured with an unbearable sadness that made Hiss’s gut twist in response.

Christ. He’d never heard such grief.

“You’re Pantera,” he said, his voice softening.

There was a long pause before he heard her give a soft sob. “Oh, I’m so much more than that, Hiss.”

Hiss stiffened, his instincts on full alert. “You know me?”

“Only in my heart.”

An icy chill of premonition inched down Hiss’s spine. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your mother.”

By

Laura Wright

The cool night air pulsed in and out of Taylor’s lungs. Her muscles threatened to seize. Rain pelted her skin like tiny bullets. The ground beneath her feet was thick with mud and brush.

And yet she ran.

She ran faster than she’d ever run before—faster than she believed herself capable of. Maybe it was the drive to keep breathing another day—to keep at bay that one person who wanted to extinguish her breath. Or maybe it was to finally know the feeling of being safe again.

The bayou terrain was exactly what she’d expected: thick foliage, stands of cypress, wildlife around every corner—their eyes a glowing pulse with every blink. But it was far more difficult to maneuver. She’d dressed appropriately, in boots, jeans, tank and an all-weather light jacket. But the rain was growing heavier by the second, the sky darker, and her compass had stopped working five minutes ago. All she could do was keep going, hope she was crossing the border—pray that Edgar and his ‘friends’ hadn’t followed when she’d snuck out the back of the quaint La Pierre bed and breakfast she’d been staying at.

The bed and breakfast her ex had tracked her to.

“Shit!” she cried as her foot sank into a large bog of brown sludge that smelled faintly of rotting eggs.

Please let me be close
, she begged, easing her foot out gingerly so she didn’t lose her boot or twist her ankle.

Then, heart beating so fast it was painful, she took off again. Running, pushing herself, faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the lush, green wildness until she came to the shoreline of the bayou. She stopped, put her hands on her thighs to catch her breath and glanced back. Just a couple of seconds, just a couple blinks. She couldn’t afford any more than that. But there was nothing. No lights. No sounds but the rain and brackish water to her right.

Keep going. Just keep going.

They had a town. She’d read about it. They had leaders, one who was purported to be kind and fair. God, it was a long shot. But that’s the chance you had to take when you were pretty much out of chances.

She was about to continue on when the breath was suddenly ripped from her body and she felt herself falling to the ground. Her butt hit wet earth with a loud thud, and she reached out for something to grab on to. But there was nothing.
What
…? Gritting her teeth against the pain, she glanced up, and the breath left her body in a rush.

Holy shit! An animal!

A puma?

No, a Pantera!

Is this really what they look like?
No drawing could do them justice. It was huge! And no more than three feet away, hackles raised, paws the size of dinner plates. She stared, both panicked and awestruck. Even with the rain falling, she could see its thick, golden fur.

“I’m sorry,” she began stupidly, as if she’d just bumped into a pedestrian on the streets of New Orleans. “I’m…I…”

Nothing else stumbled from her tongue because deadly silver eyes were pinned on her—a cat ready to spring.

Ready to attack.

She had to say something. Speak up. Not lie here ready to be dinner. God… But what? What did she tell it? That her ex-boyfriend was stalking her? That he was determined to either have her again or make sure no one else did? That she was terrified and desperate? That she had no one. That she thought—maybe foolishly, but here she was—this magical place called the Wildlands could protect her?

The cat started toward her, a slow, calculated progression, head bent, nostrils flared. Her heart kicked and her fingers dug into the wet ground. She hardly felt the rain pounding on her head and shoulders. Had she been prepared for this? Meeting up with a wild cat who could kill her as easily as Edgar had threatened to do? Was that her choice? Claws and teeth…they came in so many different packages.

She gasped, drew back as it approached. It was massive, its eyes so beautiful, yet so feral. She could feel its hot breath on her face. Her muscles flinched, ready to propel herself backward. Ready to run. But her mind refused those calls. Fear had ruled her for so long now. Every move she made. The state was a constant in her life. She’d made it here, to her destination. Now she had to do everything she could to stay.

It loomed over her, its nostrils flaring slightly as it took in her scent. She wondered what it smelled. A poor little frightened human, not worth its time or its taste buds? Taylor knew what she scented: wet fur, wet earth and something else… Something she’d never taken into her lungs before—but she swore was almost floral.

It leaned in a few inches.

Bracing herself to feel the sharp sting of claws or teeth, Taylor held its gaze.
Whatever you think you see or smell, I’m not afraid
. She gritted her teeth.
I know what true fear feels like and this isn’t it. Anticipation, anxiety…yes. But not fear
.

Its head dropped then, to her legs, and it slowly started to sniff her. First her thighs, then between her legs—Christ!—then her belly, up her chest to her neck. Finally, it lifted its head again and those silver eyes pinned her where she sat.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m human,” she rasped. “But I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

It cocked its head to the side, studying her.

“The opposite, actually,” she continued, rain pelting her face and mouth as she spoke. “I’m trying to get away from someone. He’s a really bad…man. Dangerous. I…” Her throat closed up for a moment and she cleared it. “I need help.”

Taylor had no idea what the cat understood or didn’t. But when it leaned in, stopping only inches from her face, panting, its warm breath a heartbeat against her skin, she knew if she was going to die she’d rather have it be here, beneath the feral hunger of an animal instead of under the thumb of a calculated, insecure sociopath.

But the gold puma didn’t kill her.

Instead, it ran its pink tongue from her chin to her forehead. Then over her right ear. Then across her neck.

As she sat there, ass-deep in muck, the strangest feelings rushed over and through her. Panic was still there, yes. In the back of her mind, warning her to jump up and run. But there was something else too…below the surface of that panic…something that hummed with knowing or awareness. And when she glanced up once again to meet those silver eyes, she swore the cat felt it too.

“Please. Can you take me to your town?” she asked, her voice unrecognizable to her. Breathy, strained. “To someone called Raphael?”

The moment she said the name she knew it was a mistake. The cat jerked backward, pawed the ground, then bared its impressive set of teeth.
Oh shit
. What was the problem? Was Raphael a bad guy? Was she going from one bad guy to another?

She pushed to her feet and tried to get her bearings. She was soaking wet, and, as night descended fully, getting colder. The cat remained where it was, watching her, eyes fierce.

“My name is Taylor, I…” Oh, god.
Yeah, tell it your name. Like that’s going to do something
.

A growl unlike anything she’d ever heard before erupted in the rain-scented air, and the cat leapt at her and landed a foot away in a puddle of dirty water. Taylor cried out from the splash and the attack and jumped back. But it didn’t stay where it was. It leapt again. Then pounced.
What the hell
? Taylor dropped back. Again it bounded at her. Again, she stumbled back. But when it did it a fourth time, she suddenly realized it wasn’t trying to attack her at all. It was pushing her back toward the border. It was trying to get her to run away. Get out of the Wildlands.