Michel/Striker (16 page)

My lip curls. The downfall of the Pantera male: a baby.

“He was as close to a friend as I had in there, Striker,” Twelve is saying, stopping with her back to the window and glaring at me.

“I don’t care,” I say simply. Maybe too simply.

She shakes her head, her eyes fierce with well-earned liberty. “You can’t stop me.”

I sniff. “Watch me.”

“I’ll go to Raphael,” she tosses out. Then rewinds and snorts. “Oh, fuck that, I’ll go see Three, and you can go to hell.”

This female is at her most beautiful when she’s fierce, but I can’t give in to her. “You are a walking pheromone, Twelve. Don’t you get that? You’re not safe out there.”

“Fine. Then come with me.”

I stop. Stare at her.

One dark eyebrow raises over those pale, icy blue eyes. “Your job is to protect me, right?” she says, and the thread of sarcasm is blatantly obvious. “So. Protect me.”

My chin jacks up. “And if your ‘friend’ tries to fuck you?”

Heat slams into her cheeks. I wait for her to tell me to go straight to hell. I’d deserve it. Not that I’m taking it back—but I’d still deserve it. She walks up to me and forces a grin. “I might let him. And this time, with my mind intact.”

With those words, I feel like I’ve been shot in the chest. A round of twelve bullets straight into my heart muscle. I shouldn’t care. I don’t want to. She can be with whoever she wants. I’ve taken myself out of the mix.

But I remember this morning. And last night, the last four nights…

I remember how warm she is, inside and out. How she knows pain, yet is willing to put it aside and embrace life and happiness.

The idea of another male…not just touching her skin, but being on the receiving end of all that goodness and grace…

Her stern gaze clings to mine, trying to read me. I don’t think she can. I pray my conflict isn’t written all over my face. Up until I met her, I was incredibly gifted at masking my emotions. Not so much anymore…

“All right,” I say. “I’ll go. I’ll protect you.”

It’s like a vacuum came and sucked out all the fierceness in her eyes and her expression. Her shoulders fall and she nods. I hate it. I only want to see happiness and hunger and pleasure in those baby blues.

I head over to the door, pull the screen back. My gaze finds hers. “You wanna take the pumas?”

This gets me a small smile and a shrug/nod, but truly it’s like the motherfucking sun has come out after days of rain. She has broken through my wall. Shrouded my past with the need to help her overcome her own. And as she walks by me, shifting into her puma as she goes, I feel weakened. Both in body and in mind.

I am the Hunter, yet she possesses all of the strength.

***

Twelve

I’m nervous. But not for the reasons one might think. When you see someone again who’s been through the same war as you, someone who’s experienced horrific things, shared incredibly personal things, it’s like looking at an old home movie. The ones that show the hurt on people’s faces through forced smiles.

I’m worried as I stand inside the clinic at the door to Three’s room—
Olivier’s
room. That I’m going to feel like I’m back there again. In the lab. The second I see him. And I’m not sure I can handle it. Or…I don’t want to have to handle it.

“You don’t have to do this now,” Striker says. “Let’s go back to the cottage. You can do this another day.”

He’s standing to my left. Despite our tiff earlier, he’s been nothing but supportive, even though I know he doesn’t want to be here either. For very different reasons, of course. Reasons I refuse to think about right now. Or hope will ever be resolved.

I shake my head. “I want to see him.” Then I push open the door. The one thing Striker demanded was that he could stay inside the room with me. I was going to fight him on it, but I’m tired of fighting. And I did acknowledge him as my protector.

The room the Pantera have Olivier in is very similar to the one they put me in when I first got here. Sterile but warm, with a sitting area, bed, lots of windows. I spot him at once. That shoulder-length dark blond hair is a dead giveaway. He’s standing over by one of the windows, staring out at the lawn.

“You remember it?” I say. “This place?”

He glances back and smiles so bright and so wide, I feel tears in my throat. “Twelve.”

“Three.” I rush over to him and throw my arms around his neck. He feels so familiar. Safe in a strange, delusional way. “Olivier.”

“Ha!” He pulls back and looks down at me. He’s got the warmest brown eyes, the gentlest smile. “It’s a name I had to bury in the labs. Feels so strange to hear that name again.”

I smile back. “I like it. It’s just right on you.”

A low growl echoes through the room. Olivier’s eyes flicker past my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hunter,” he says to Striker, who I can only imagine is looking all kinds of fierce right now. “We’re old friends.”

“Never mind Striker,” I tell him. “He’s harmless.” Or he better be.

“I don’t know,” Olivier says. “With the daggers his cat is throwing me right now, and those fangs…”

“What?” I release him completely and turn around. My gut tightens.

What is Striker playing at? Gone is the male Pantera guarding the door. Now it’s a massive black puma, standing sentry.

I turn back to Olivier and shake my head. “Come on.” I take his hand and lead him over to the small table and chairs. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him, taking a seat.

He sighs, sits down across from me. “This is my home. Or was.”

“I heard about your mate. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“How long are you going to be in here?”

“Not long.” His lips thin. “They just want to check me out, make sure I’m okay physically and…well, the mental soundness part might take a little longer…”

“Oh, I know.”

He smiles sadly. “I’m sure you do. But that part can be outpatient. Ongoing.” He studies me for a second. “It’s faded.”

My brows draw together. “What?”

“Whatever it was they injected you with. You know, to keep us…insane…crazy with lust…” He inhales deeply. “It’s not completely gone, but it’s manageable.”

“Really?” My heart lurches into my throat. “Is that even possible? I mean, I was hoping, but…”

The relief that flows through me is massive. Goddess, what this means… I can walk around without worrying. No protection needed. I venture a glance at the black cat near the door. Its emerald eyes are rabid as it looks from me to Olivier. It doesn’t like this news.
Well, too bad. You don’t get to pick and choose how you get me. Lover. Protector. “Scandal” watcher. Friend.

“You look good, Twelve,” Olivier says, his gaze running over my face. “By the way, are you going to keep the name?”

“Depends. I need to remember the one I was born with first.”

His eyes cloud over. “You still don’t remember? Why…?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It was coming to me, some things, a few things, but I believe to bring it all back I need—”

My words are cut off by a feral, deadly growl. I whirl around and glare at Striker.
Not your business, kitty cat. Back off.

His cat narrows its eyes.

I turn back to Olivier. “Whatever those bastards did to me to turn me into a mindless breeding machine ninety percent of the time has had long-term effects.”

“But you said the memories could come back.”

“Yes. I believe so.”

He leans in, takes my hand. “You saved me so many times in there, Twelve. What can I do? Anything.” His eyes are pinned to mine. “And I mean anything. It would be my pleasure.”

All I see is a black blur, feel Olivier’s hand ripped from mine, then hear him drop on the ground. When my vision clears, he’s on his back and Striker’s cat is snarling above him.

“Stop!” I cry. “What the hell are you doing?” I’m on my feet, pointing at the door. “Get out! Right now, Striker. Leave!”

But the cat doesn’t even look my way. Its eyes are fixed on Olivier.

“Shit,” Olivier utters. “I haven’t been able to access my cat yet.”

I’m so angry. Poor Olivier has been through hell. This is the last thing he needs. I stalk over to Striker and get right in front of his puma. “Leave,” I say through gritted teeth. “Stop being a selfish prick, and leave.” Emotion is rising up inside me, making my head swim, but I push it away. “I don’t need your protection anymore. Ever again.”

The puma snarls, then shudders, then quickly shifts back into the male. He looms above me, his eyes narrowed on mine.

“How could you?” I start.

“He won’t touch you,” Striker grinds out. “No one will.”

Fury replaces anger and I open my mouth to give him another piece of my mind. But a sudden blast of light hits my eyes and I’m struck dumb. On a gasp, I grip my head.

“What’s wrong, Twelve?” Olivier is at my side in an instant, his hands on my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Move away from her,” Striker growls.

“Stop it,” I utter through the pain. “You don’t get to do this. Dictate who touches me and who doesn’t.” I squint up at him. My head feels like it’s going to explode. “You don’t want to help me? Then get out of the way for someone who does.”

It’s not like the crash of an ocean wave, the way my brain turns from lucid to survivor mode. It’s more like a light switch. On one second, off the next. No time to be afraid. No time to prepare.

I’m just…gone.

CHAPTER 8

Twelve

I am the creature now. Stalking my prey. I want to play with my food. Lick and suck. But it won’t let me. It tries to talk to me. Softly. Soft things I don’t understand.

It puts its lips on mine.

That
I understand.

And the hardness sliding inside me. That I understand, too. That is what matters.

All that matters.

I growl at it. Move and bite. I want more. I want to scream. I want to feel…everything…what I am—who…

Its lips want to consume mine, but I only want the hardness. What’s inside the hardness. Why does it slow? It keeps making sounds—

“Look at me, Twelve,” it says. Is it sad? Is it hurt? “Look in my eyes. You know who I am.”

I don’t understand any of it. Who is Twelve?

I wrap myself around it again and squeeze it. It groans, but won’t release. Only hardness. No eyes. No sounds.

I am wild. I am…what? Feline? Is that something? Is that anything.

It is shaking. The hardness…I want…

“Fuck,” it snarls above me. “I’m coming. Again. Come with me this time, Twelve. Come back to me.”

What is this ‘Twelve’?

Back…

I’m here. I’m…

And then thoughts are no more. I am being bathed in heat and wetness and light. I am stillness. It makes me feel…

Oh, I feel…

When it presses against me, I lean into its soft over hard and bite until it moves again. Hardness again. Until it gives me more.

More.

Always more.

***

Striker

I sit on the chair across from the bed, buck-ass naked, my dick tired. I’ve been fucking Twelve for eight hours straight, and she’s finally asleep.

I can’t believe myself. How I acted. How I’ve been acting for the past seven years. Selfish. Living under the ever-sagging roof of self-protection only to hurt the one female on earth I want more than anything to protect.

I drove Twelve back into madness.

The thought peels another layer from my gut. In punishing myself and Farrah and my brother, I ended up punishing this female I’m falling hard and fast for.

I want her. All of her. The realization hit the second she hit the ground. Which was too fucking late. I don’t deserve her anymore. But I’m at least going to help her, give her what she needs, what she’s wanted from the moment she could ask me for it.

What I was too selfish and afraid and pigheaded to give her.

She stirs then, and I sit up. I refuse rest. I won’t sleep or eat until she’s awake—until her mind is awake. Even if it means I end up mad.

Madness with her could be beautiful. I’d be happy in her world. I already am…was…

A soft growl erupts from the bed and I’m on my feet and stalking over to her. She senses my presence and instantly opens her legs for me. As tired as I am, my cock starts to fill with blood. It’s addicted to her. Like the puma is.

Like I am.

I’m over her, pushing my shoulders against the backs of her thighs to give me better access. This will be the only thing I consume until she wakes.

The perfect feast.

She snarls and fists my hair, then shoves my face down into her sweet, ever-creaming pussy.

CHAPTER 9