1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Twelve Read online

  “Me too,” she murmured.

  His arms tightened around her shivering body. Shock was just setting in.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” he murmured softly.

  She gave a sharp shake of her head. “Joshua was never my father. In fact, I don’t know who was my biological father, but someday I intend to find out.”

  “True, he wasn’t your father. Still––”

  His words were cut off as Bianca lifted her fingers and pressed them against his lips.

  “No,” she said in a firm tone. “I want the past to stay in the past. At least for now.”

  He rubbed his cheek against hers in a purely feline gesture. Eventually they would both have to confront what Joshua Ford had done to them and work through the pain. But for now, he just wanted to celebrate having this kind, gentle, exquisitely beautiful female in his arms.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured. “All I want is to concentrate on my mate.”

  Xavier cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Kayden slowly lifted his head, gazing down at Bianca’s pale face. As anxious as he was to take her to the Wildlands and introduce her to her new pack, he had a more pressing desire at the moment.

  “Actually, I want to go back to Vegas,” he told his friend.

  “Vegas?” Xavier demanded in surprise.

  “Yeah.” He lips curved in a sensuous smile as he watched Bianca’s cheeks flush with anticipation. “Bianca and I have some unfinished business that includes complete privacy and a large shower.”

  Xavier chuckled, stepping on the gas. “You got it.”

  Leaning down, Kayden brushed a kiss over Bianca’s willing lips.

  “Viva, Las Vegas.”

  * * * *

  Bianca arched against Kayden’s hard muscles anticipation licking through her body with flames of pleasure.

  They were already naked and lying in the bed they’d shared the night before after spending an hour in the shower. Kayden had kissed and caressed her until she was at the point of screaming with the need to ease the insistent desire he’d stroked to a fever pitch.

  He’d adamantly refused to listen to her pleas, insisting that they enjoy their first time together in the comfort of a bed.

  Now she studied his beautiful face. His lean features had softened, his eyes glowing with the heat of his cat.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” she asked, trying to keep her voice teasing. Inside, she truly worried that he might have decided that she wasn’t the female he wanted to share his life with.

  He frowned, then without warning, he was rolling her onto her back so he could perch on top of her. She shivered, savoring the feel of his solid weight pressing her deep into the mattress. Instinctively her legs parted, allowing him to settle between her thighs, the tip of his cock pressed against her clit.

  “I’m a Pantera,” he said on a growl. “Once we choose our mates, there are never any second thoughts. Our love and devotion is unwavering. And eternal.”

  “Mate.” The word echoed through her, easing the restlessness that twisted her stomach into knots.

  He studied her with a hunter’s gaze, the heat of his body feeling as if it was scalding her sensitive skin.

  “Does that work for you?”

  She shuddered, her hands reaching up to frame his face. “Oh, it works,” she assured him in soft tones. “An eternity with you is exactly what I want.”

  A wicked smile curved his lips. “What else do you want?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “You. I want you.”

  “Music to my ears,” he rasped, lowering his head to capture her lips in a kiss of sheer possession.

  Bianca released a soft moan, heart racing as she allowed her fingers to tangle in the short strands of his hair. He tasted of mint and heat and raw male power. Her head spun, the desire he’d already stirred to life thundering through her as his tongue dipped between her lips.

  “Kayden, please,” she pleaded.

  “Yes,” he muttered, reaching down to guide his straining erection to the entrance of her body. “Hold on, princess.”

  Holding her wide gaze, he penetrated her damp channel.

  Bianca released a soft breath as he pressed ever deeper. There was a burning sensation as he invaded her.

  He seemed excessively large. Were all men this big? His hardness seemed to be stretching her to the limit. Then he was finally buried deep inside her.

  Now her groan was one of fierce approval. Oh, yeah. This was want she’d wanted. It was everything that she’d dreamed of.

  Spreading her knees, she silently encouraged him to continue. She might not know a damned thing about making love, but she sensed that Kayden was a master.

  Relishing his slow, steady pace, Bianca spread her hands over his chest, her eyes widening as he held up one hand and deliberately allowed his claws to pierce the tips of his fingers. Her breath caught as he held her gaze and with one slashing motion, he’d sliced his claws through the tender skin of her hip.

  It should have hurt, but instead she felt nothing but a burst of tingling magic that exploded through her. A power at the very center of her being roared to life, stretching toward Kayden even as his roar of satisfaction shook the air.

  Her inner cat?

  Perhaps.

  Kayden wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. Then, pumping into her at a furious pace, his fingers stroked over the marking on her hip at the same time he catapulted her into a shattering climax.

  Bianca quivered in ecstasy, convulsing around him as he gave one more thrust and cried out with the violent pleasure of his own orgasm.

  “Mine,” she called out.

  “Mine,” he panted. “For all eternity.”

  Simon

  Chapter One

  “Shift back,” Parish growled as he stood at the cabin door, arms crossed over his bare chest. “I’ve had about enough of this bullshit, Tryst.”

  Behind the screen, the massive midnight-black cat grinned up at him.

  Damn female. Pain in his ass.

  “This isn’t a friend making a request, Tryst,” he continued with barely disguised irritation. “This is your commander.”

  The cat raised one eyebrow. Which, frankly, would seem like an impossible feat for a puma—but this puma wasn’t like any other.

  Parish exhaled heavily.

  “I’ll jump back into my cat, boss,” Lian said, holding ground right beside him. “Discuss things with her. Use a little fangs and claws. You know, the language she understands.”

  Parish turned his head and uttered tersely, “Get serious. You know her. Have since you were cubs.” He gave the male a pointed look. “You know what she’s capable of. You try and cross this threshold, you’ll get your ass handed to you.”

  Lian’s lip curled. “Bullshit. She’s barely out of cubhood. A female. And half my size—”

  With a sudden crash, the black puma shot forward and attacked the screen, cutting off the male’s words and sending him, and Parish too, back a good two feet. Both males cursed as, with a snarl of satisfaction, the puma dropped to all fours once again.

  “All show, no bite,” Lian baited, though remained where he was.

  “Shut it,” Parish said to the male, then approached the door once again. “Okay, Tryst, enough of the games. This isn’t just any order. And I’m not the only one giving it. You remember Raphael, don’t you? Our leader?”

  Parish waited for the hiss or the snarl that normally accompanied a reminder of authority. But this time, the cat was silent. Even sat down on her haunches. Pale blue eyes wary, she glared up at him, as if to say, Yes, asshole, I know him.

  “This is dire,” Parish continued. “The species—your Pantera—need you.”

  Her nostrils flared, as if she was trying to scent his sincerity. And if anyone could do it, it would be her. She was a strange thing. Talented, brave, and ruthless…but strange.

  “No one has your capture and
retrieving skills, female. With fur or without.” He leaned against the doorjamb and inhaled sharply. “I know you’re not comfortable doing the without thing, but we need this male.”

  Pumas didn’t have eyebrows, but this one did. Maybe it was because she practically lived in her cat 24/7 and her human traits had fused somehow with the animal ones. Whatever the reason, she raised that brow high and in question.

  “I don’t know why they want him,” Parish told her. He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and thrust it flat against the screen door. It was barely a paragraph. All they had on the rogue Diplomat. “Raphael won’t disclose it to me. But he made it very clear that this is vital—life and death kinda thing—and to get my best on it.”

  Behind him, Lian snorted. “Best,” he grumbled. “Please. I’m right here, boss.”

  Parish didn’t have a chance to respond. To tell the male to pipe down or they were going to lose Tryst and her skills. The front door of the cabin burst open with a sharp creaking sound and the puma leapt out. With barely a sound, she snatched the paper from Parish’s hand with her teeth, then, as both males watched—mouths open—she leapt from the porch steps and took off into the misty morning bayou.

  Chapter Two

  Didn’t they get it? No one fucking touched his hair but him. Not because he was a vain prick with an attitude problem, but because if they did, if they got too close, they’d see the tats on his scalp. The marks he’d been given in hopes he could be tracked. Hadn’t worked, of course. But the tats remained.

  As a reminder not to get that close to being caught ever again.

  “Simon.” The photographer’s assistant stuck her head into the room. The twenty-something female gave him a bright white smile, her gray eyes eager. “They’re ready for you.”

  “Thank you…” he said with a question mark to his tone.

  “Becca,” she supplied.

  “Right.”

  Her smile faltered and her eyes flickered to the floor. She was disappointed he hadn’t remembered her name. He wished he could tell her it wasn’t anything personal. It wasn’t arrogance or douchebaggery either. He’d seen her once on the way in, but hadn’t worked with her before. In fact, he never worked with the same photog more than once, so he rarely remembered anyone’s name. Such was his life. And his rules of order. Never stay in one place long enough to develop relationships. Business or otherwise. Trust no one. Rely on no one. He worked only to stay flush, jobs coming through his private Instagram account only. And before he agreed, all parties and locations were checked out thoroughly. Granted, he’d fucked up a time or two. Drew some unwanted fur his way. But it had been a clear thirteen months since those fangs had attempted to come ‘round. Maybe his past had finally gotten the message.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Becca asked, following closely behind as he left the dressing room and headed for the set.

  “No, thanks, darlin’. I’m good.”

  The shoot was for Red Dog men’s fragrance. Something he’d never smelled or worn in his life. Fragrance, even scented soap, brought out his musk, and he couldn’t have that. The fact that he didn’t wear what he was selling didn’t seem to bother the company heads, though. Hell, they were giving him the billboard in Times Square. It was his biggest score yet, and despite the exposure issue—which would drive him underground for a year or so—he should be happy as a pig in shit. After all, the payday would fill his bank account to the brim, not to mention buy him that little house in Athens he had his eye on—the one that could serve as his “underground.” But happiness was not something he considered possible. Inside the Wildlands or living among the humans. Once stolen and ravaged, an emotion like that, so precious, so rare, was gone forever.

  “All right, Simon?” the photographer called over to him.

  Simon assessed the set. Craggy brick wall, gray concrete floors, plush red velvet couch. He headed for the red velvet and dropped to his knees before it. Instantly, the photographer started clicking away. He moved lithely through poses: arms stretched out wide, head falling back, cheek resting on the cushion, eyes eating up the lens…

  Strange job, modeling. But it spoke, and encouraged, every facet of the…Goddess, could he even think the words anymore?

  The Pantera within him.

  Yes, he supposed he could think of it.

  He grinned. His Pantera nature rose to the surface with every fierce look he threw at the camera.

  “Not sure I’m feeling the tux, Simon,” the photographer called out. “What about you?”

  Simon turned to see the man staring into his camera, assessing, as he moved through the shots.

  “Fragrance goes on the skin,” Simon replied, removing his jacket and tossing it aside.

  Ever so slowly he pulled off his tie, then started ripping his shirt away from his body. As buttons flew and fabric shredded, the photographer quickly jumped in and started snapping, calling out, “Oh, hell yeah. Loving this. Eyes on the lens and walk to me. Slowly. Tear me apart while you’re tearing the shirt.”

  Mouth slightly open, teeth bared, Simon did as he was commanded, embodying what he’d left behind. Or who… The Pantera male. The beast man...without the beast…

  “Perfect,” the photog said. “I’m following your lead.”

  Tossing the shirt off set, Simon turned and stalked toward the red velvet couch. Slipping the belt from the pants at his waist, he sat down, legs spread wide, grabbed the New York Times off the coffee table and started to read.

  “Too much?” he uttered, keeping his face covered but his chest exposed.

  No answer. Just the familiar clicking sound of the camera’s shutter as the photog moved in closer.

  * * * *

  A model?

  Were they fucking kidding her with this?

  Was this a…joke?

  Sending their best tracker…forcing her out of her fur—for this?!?

  Poised, ready, disgusted, Tryst sneered from her spot beside a support beam in the shadows of the warehouse as she stared at the Pantera male sitting on the red couch. No. He wasn’t worthy of that name. The near-human male?

  Yes. Perfect.

  He had tossed the newspaper he’d been fake-reading onto the floor and was now staring straight into the camera. Ravenous. Long legs spread wide, tan chest hard with muscle, overly handsome facial features taut and fierce and lightly stubbled. With short black hair tousled like…well, like he’d just had a good fuck. She supposed he was something to behold. No doubt he was over six four and could bench press a Ducati too, like most Pantera males…

  A flash of unwanted heat flickered through Tryst with both that look and his predatory body language, but she shoved it away. Hell no. No spark of attraction for the nearly-human male model. Yuck! Disgusting. Allowing herself to feel such things made her unworthy of her fur. Even if, for one second, she’d sworn she’d seen it. The puma inside him. The one she hadn’t believed existed when she’d stepped into this laughably guarded warehouse five minutes ago. Her eyes narrowed on the male. But it was there. Inside him. Down deep, controlled by something… His will, perhaps? Brought out whenever he stared into the camera. Making the photographer nearly explode with hunger in his designer denim.

  Asshole. Traitor. Simon: the male model. He was using the Pantera inside him, what he once was, to entice a human audience. Sell a human scent. He disgusted her, repelled her. In fact, she had a mind, and a will, to charge in, make a meal of anyone who got in her face, grab that sexy sellout by the waist of his fancy tuxedo pants and be on her way. Back to real life. To the bayou. But the scent of agitated human female coming up behind her captured her nostrils and drew her attention away.

  “Are you serious with that?” the woman whispered.

  Tryst turned to glare at the young, college-aged female who’d found her in the shadows. “Is there a problem?” she asked the harmless gnat.

  The severe tone in her voice caught the girl by surprise and she inhaled sharply. “Look,” she stumbl
ed with a shaky sort of smile. “His contract states bubbled water only. Just trying to save your butt. You know?”

  For a brief second, Tryst had no clue what the gnat was talking about. Bubbles? Wasn’t that something human children played with? Or bathed in? Then she spied the table to her right. Laid out on a blue cloth were breads, fruit, sweets and several bottles of sweating water. Her gaze returned to the girl. Clearly, she believed Tryst to be some kind of model’s servant.

  The fangs hidden inside her gums vibrated.

  Gnats loved blood, didn’t they? Well, so did Pantera.

  This one, anyway.

  “Models are weird that way,” the girl explained with a quiet laugh. “Superstitious or something. I don’t know this guy personally or anything”—she pointed at the faux-Pantera—”but I’m willing to bet he’ll freak out if he doesn’t have his bubbles.”

  Tryst sniffed. “Will he now?” Oh, Parish was going to pay for this. He’d selected her for a mission of ridiculousness. Truly, her puma had always had it in for him. Ever since he’d made it swim the bayou to save one of the new recruits.

  She fucking hated water.

  “You don’t want to get fired, do you?” the girl asked.

  “Oh, Goddess forbid,” Tryst said dramatically, and no doubt sarcastically. She turned away from the girl and focused back on the male, who no doubt used to run and capture prey, leap from trees, growl at his enemies—know who the fuck he was.

  The male who now wanted BUBBLE WATER.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” the gnat said, lust threading her tone.

  Yuck.

  “Not my type,” Tryst muttered.

  There was a snort of amusement behind her. “Oh, come on. Hot, rich male models are everyone’s type, honey.”

  Call me that again and I will disembowel you. “I play for a different team.”

  The girl inhaled sharply. “Oh, right. Gotcha. Cool.”

  Tryst’s lips twitched with humor as she watched Simon, the model, undo the top button of his tux pants and splay them just enough to expose a sprinkling of black hair at his taut groin. Once again, the unsettling feeling came over her, and once again she forced it away. The team she played for wasn’t the one this male had joined. Her team was male all right, but he was dangerous, determined, covered in fur and could give two shits about money, cameras, or bubbles in his water.