1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Twelve Page 9

  What did Raph want with this traitor, she wondered, as against her will her mouth watered. He was clearly one of them now. A human. Weak. What could he possibly have that the Pantera needed so badly—so desperately? And why had she been led to believe that finding and capturing him would be a nearly impossible task? Locating him had been a breeze. Getting on set? A day at the shore.

  Maybe he knew someone? Was connected?

  Shit, maybe he was bait.

  He was perched on the back of the couch now, like a hawk, buttoned up at the waist again and holding a pair of thick black glasses between his fingers. As he slid them on, his gaze flickered in her direction and held. A sharp pain erupted inside her chest and heat circled her belly. She inhaled deeply and stepped back a foot, trying to escape the sensations running rampant within her. What the hell was that? The way he was posed? The glasses? Goddess, maybe she had an undiscovered turn-on for them—after all, none of the Pantera wore them, so she wouldn’t really know. Whatever it was, it had made her insides go crazy—it had made her gasp.

  And she didn’t gasp.

  Ever.

  Not even when she mated from time to time with one of the males she deemed worthy enough for a casual night…or morning…of fun.

  Eyes three shades darker than her own pale blue, and encircled by masculine black frames, narrowed on her. She told her body, her insides, to stand the hell down or else. She had a job to do. But across the room, he kept staring. Hard. Did he know who she was? What she was?

  Someone elbowed her in the back, and she whirled around and snapped, “What?”

  It was the girl. Again. She drew back, eyes wide, and swallowed. “I’m just saying…well, go.” She pointed past Tryst. “Give it to him. And good luck with holding on to your job. I told you he wanted bubbles.”

  Oh, shit. The water. The gnat seriously thought she was an assistant. Of course, why else would she be on set, right? She inhaled sharply and planned her movement. Wouldn’t do to draw attention to herself. The title of assistant worked for her…though if the male model scented her…

  Hmmm…she couldn’t remove him from the set without questions or cops being called. Too open. She needed to draw him out, then strike when he was in his dressing room. She cursed herself for not waiting in there for him to begin with. But she’d wanted to check him out. Make sure he was the one she sought. See what kind of threat he truly was—

  “Girl, forget getting fired, you’ll never work in fashion again if you don’t move,” the gnat uttered. “Oh, great. Now the photographer is looking over here. I’d do it myself but I’m not getting canned for your mistake.”

  “Relax, honey,” Tryst said, grabbing a couple bottles from the food table and breaking free from the shadow. She tossed one to the photographer as she moved past him. “Nice save, captain,” she called out when he caught it easily, his eyes wide and confused.

  She didn’t wait for a response, just continued on her way. Her prey was ahead and watching her every move. Left, right, left right. He slipped off the red velvet couch just as she came to stand before it. His gaze ran the length of her and when it returned to her eyes, they were glistening. She grinned. She wasn’t wearing anything that would cause a male to gawk. Tight black jeans, black tank, black combat boots, her mass of red hair pulled into a topknot high on her head. But attraction or sex or hunger wasn’t what glistened in his eyes—or what hardened his…jaw.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, low and dangerous, his nostrils flaring as he breathed her in.

  “Your assistant, hot stuff.” Every word dripped with disgust and sarcasm. “Or should I call you, Mr.…I’m sorry, do you even have a last name? Is that a model thing?”

  A sound rumbled in his throat. It was deadly and went inside her chest and vibrated. Hard. Oh, my. So maybe he was Pantera after all. Albeit a shadow of one.

  He crossed his arms over his broad, lean-muscled chest and laughed softly. “Getting desperate, is he?”

  “The photographer? Probably.” She smiled but knew the show of teeth didn’t reach her eyes. “I think you gave him what he wanted, though.”

  The male sobered. “Raphael,” he returned very slowly, enunciating each syllable of the name so that at the end, his tongue flicked his teeth.

  Goddess be damned. That tongue. She couldn’t take her eyes from it. Her faux smile faltered as what felt like hot ash sizzled deep in her belly. She was really starting to hate this male.

  “He sent you here to bring me back, isn’t that right?” he asked, his eyes crashing into hers and demanding the truth. “To the Wildlands? Home?”

  “Back to the bayou, is what you mean to say,” she clarified with venom that stemmed from not only her growing dislike of this male, but the strange shock of heat he seemed to create that was continuously coursing through her blood. “The Wildlands isn’t your home. More like a page in some fashion rag. But yeah,” she added on a sigh. “He wants you back.” She shoved the water at him. “Finish up here, pretty boy. Then go take off your makeup and put on something that won’t shame you or me.” She turned around and called over her shoulder, “Oh yeah—and sorry, not sorry, about the lack of bubbles.”

  Chapter Three

  He hadn’t been away from the bayou long enough to believe that the tall, staggeringly gorgeous female standing in the middle of his dressing room was an unskilled, newbie Hunter. He knew what Raphael sent his way. They got more aggressive and hyper-brilliant every time. So this one had to be something not to underestimate. Unless the big boss believed Simon would cave to the needs of a hard dick. Because truly, that shit could be a powerful motivator. And the female before him with her fists full of red hair, body of a Venus, eyes the color of the Athens sky, and a full mouth with a razor-sharp tongue had caused both. Forget the boney, blank-eyed models he worked with. This female was truly something significant. Something to lust after.

  He shoved down his zipper. “You might want to turn away, female.”

  As predicted, she sneered. “Why’s that?”

  “I need to change my clothes.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t wear underwear.”

  She sniffed with forced boredom. “Please.”

  “Just being a gentleman, darlin’.”

  “I ate one of those for breakfast on my way over here.” She grinned. “Male.”

  Savage heat flickered in Simon’s chest at her words. Or maybe it was that word. He hadn’t been called it in a long time, and for a second, he thought it might have awakened…

  No. Impossible.

  The Pantera inside of him was dead. And very much forgotten.

  He growled to himself as he kicked off his shoes.

  “You know what I want,” she said smoothly. “You, coming with me, all nice and quiet—”

  “I never come quiet, female.” He stared at her, his brow lifted as he yanked off his pants and tossed them over a chair.

  Her jaw tightened and a stain of heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Back to the Wildlands where you belong,” she added pointedly. Her eyes narrowed on him but never dropped below his neck. “Or where Raph seems to think you belong.”

  “Raphael needs to leave well enough alone.” Naked now, he stalked over to the clothing rack and grabbed a pair of jeans and T-shirt.

  “Raphael is your leader,” she said in a vicious tone. “Whether you live inside the Wildlands or out. Pretend if you want, but you’re not human. You’re Pantera.”

  When he headed back her way, her gaze skimmed over him. Assessing. Every inch.

  “Goddess only knows why he wants you.” Her gaze dropped and she stared mockingly at his cock, which was halfway hard now. “Hmmm…maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe you’re not Pantera after all.”

  With a flash of speed, he was on her, had her momentarily off her feet, then pressed back against the dressing room door. “Ever think it’s about you, not about me?”

  “No.”

  He grinned, his cock no longer at half-mast but fully erect. Oh, y
es, it was definitely about her. “You think you’re the first one they sent to bring me back, female? You think they haven’t tried this nearly every other month for the past five years?”

  By the look on her face, she didn’t know. Of course they hadn’t told her. And she’d not demanded it. Just had gone blindly into her mission. No questions asked. The Pantera. Sense of duty was bullshit.

  He leaned in and sniffed her neck—oh, just a taste—then lifted his head and whispered in her ear, “You’ve wasted your time coming here.”

  Her growl carried a thread of sexual energy.

  His tongue lapped at her lobe. “Go home, kitten.”

  She grabbed him suddenly, forearms cinching his waist, and somehow managed to turn him around. Goddess! In seconds, it was he who was pressed back against the door.

  His arms pinned over his head.

  Oh, fuck, yes. He laughed softly, his eyes locked with hers. This was his kind of female. If only she wasn’t a pain in the ass Hunter who had vowed to capture and return him to his personal hell. “Just went from semi to block of wood, kitten,” he uttered, his voice threaded with needed. “Yank ‘em back even farther, will you. Pain is what I live for.”

  It wasn’t the response she was expecting and her eyes flickered with unease. “What is wrong with you?”

  Her mouth was calling to him. “Nothing that can’t be cured living away from the Wildlands.”

  “Sorry. Not possible.”

  Goddess, he wanted to grab her ass and lift her up, make her straddle him. Find some relief. It wouldn’t be difficult. She was strong but not nearly strong enough to contain him. “You gonna walk me out of here like this?”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Besides the bareass naked issue, a lot of photographers out there. NYPD will be called. Attention will be drawn.” He lifted his chin a fraction. Better to smell her with. “Did they teach you nothing in Hunter school? When you go outside the Wildlands, you don’t draw attention to yourself and your kind.”

  With a curse, she pushed away from him, releasing his wrists. “Get dressed.”

  “It’d go faster if you helped.”

  She dropped into a chair and snorted. “No interest in touching you.”

  “You’re just going to leave me like this?”

  “I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

  He laughed and pushed away from the door. She was feisty. A true cat. Spitting one moment, purring the next. It was disappointing that he’d never see her again after today. But such was life. Well, his life.

  He pulled on his shirt then grabbed his jeans. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” she practically snarled.

  “Why do you love it? The Wildlands?” He zipped up and put on his shoes. “Don’t you feel caged there? Like an…animal?”

  “I love being an animal. I wish I had fur on my back right now.”

  “That’s right,” he recalled. “No shifting outside the magic of the Wildlands… So...are you in your cat more often than you’re like this?” He walked toward her, his gaze flickering past her for a brief second.

  “If I could be in my cat 24/7, I would.”

  “Interesting.”

  She stood up. “Can we go now.” It wasn’t a question, and his answer wasn’t a verbal one.

  He reached behind her, yanked the chair forward, which made her falter, her butt landing on the cushion once again. He leaned in close, his eyes locked with hers, his face just an inch away. “Cab waiting outside? Or is it a limo? Maybe a horse-drawn carriage? I’m used to grand gestures.”

  For a few brief seconds—which was all he needed—the female seemed to consider this. Then her lips twitched and her eyes took on a mocking look. She was damn good at those looks. Made his knees buckle. Almost.

  “I’m thinking I’ll just throw you over my shoulder, caveman style.” She batted her eyelashes. “Or cavewoman.”

  He groaned. This sucked. “Goddess, you don’t know how good that sounds.” He stood up, exhaling with disappointment. “Another time. I hope.”

  She sniffed and rolled her eyes, then started to rise. When she realized she was tied to the chair, her gaze blasted his and she bared her teeth.

  “You piece of rotting shit,” she snarled.

  He grabbed his bag. “I know you don’t mean that, kitten.”

  Like the wildcat she was, she started fighting, growling and straining hard against the nearly invisible threads that bound her. But to no avail. She wasn’t going anywhere. It was amazing stuff. Found and purchased in a small town just outside Frankfurt, Germany.

  “It only gets tighter when you struggle,” he informed her. “Listen, if it’s any consolation, I’ve never wanted to…” He gave her a wicked, regretful smile.

  “Fuck you,” she spat at him.

  “Yes, that exactly. I’ve never wanted that with any of the other Pantera Raph has sent my way. You’re quite something.” He reached for his coat. “Tell your leader that my life is my own. And next time he thinks to send someone to fetch me, let him know I may not be sending them back alive.”

  He turned and walked out the door, sure to lock it behind himself.

  * * * *

  Not possible.

  Not. Fucking. Possible.

  Had she just basically allowed that traitor to contain her? Had she—a Hunter, a self-described badass Pantera female—been so captivated by him—his eyes, his lips, his scent—that she had felt nothing when he’d wrapped her up in…

  Howling, she again strained against the bindings. What the fuck was this? Colorless, thin like pasta, but strong as iron. Cursing, she thrashed and thrashed. Never had she been so disgusted with herself.

  When she found him, he was going to pay. Slow and bloody. And she would find him.

  Fuck, she missed her cat.

  Chapter Four

  Sixteen. The number of safe houses he had acquired and set up within the United States alone. Not that they stayed under his control for very long. A year, at most. Buying and selling had become a full-time job. One that his lawyer—the only human he even remotely trusted—had taken over nearly three years ago. The main requirement for a property was to be remote. Impossible to get to. Tucked away.

  This one was no different.

  Outside the wall of windows he’d retracted the moment he’d stepped inside the house, the ocean crashed hard and aching against the rocks. The rhythm soothed him but it also reminded him of the constant that was his relationship with the Pantera. Pull away, return. Pull away, return. Would he ever truly escape them?

  His belly growled, and he left the living room and headed for the kitchen. The four-room beach cottage looked wind and sea battered from the exterior, but inside, the home was fully decked out. The best of the best. He’d learned well from his former family.

  He opened the fridge and stared. As usual, and like every other safe house, it was fully stocked. But nothing called to him. He closed the door and opened the freezer.

  Raphael needed to give the fuck up already. He knew Simon wouldn’t survive going back there. Even for an hour. He was one of only a few who knew and understood. But he didn’t seem to give a shit. Granted, Simon had heard what was happening in the Wildlands—how dire things had become with the attack and with all the poor, damaged lab rats emerging. But he could do nothing for them. He had zero to offer. If anything, with his...deficiency, he’d add to the problem.

  Grabbing the vodka and a tall glass, he poured himself a shot. Then another, as he stood against the island. Truly, alcohol was pointless. Never did dick to him—but did that stop him from trying? Nah. He was on a mission. Something, anything to get rid of his frustration over Raph and the memory of the red-haired puma female who was permanently burned on his retinas. He’d never been sent one like her. Stunning, sexy, a little scary…

  A smile and a soft growl exited his throat. Which turned into a stilted laugh because he’d believed that sound—one brought forward from an animal’s hu
nger—gone from him after all these years.

  He was just pouring himself a third shot when a sharp scent assaulted his nostrils. Growling, turning into it, only a shock of red met his gaze before his head blasted with pain, his legs gave out beneath him, and his vision went dark. Cursing, teeth clenched, he reached for the counter, but only grasped air.

  No!

  Fuck! Impossible…

  It was his last thought before blackness ripped through him and he was gone.

  * * * *

  Simon struggled within himself. Every time he seemed to find consciousness, he was pulled back to the bottom of the ocean, reaching the surface once again, an unattainable goal. Slight panic blanketing him, he persevered. Grave determination and fierce anger fueling him, he pushed himself up once more and finally, finally broke through. Ahhhh…yes—sunlight! Gulping the fresh air, he was relieved to be alive. But instantly on alert. For another attack—danger.

  Or, in this case, for a very talented Hunter.

  One who had, Simon mused, his head still buzzing from the painful intensity of his return trip to consciousness, stripped off his clothes and had his wrists and ankles tied to the four bedposts.

  His fists clenched. His feet flexed.

  Fuck.

  He was secured too damn well. Was that rope from his garage?

  “You snore.”

  The Hunter. Her voice. It made his skin hum with instant awareness. His nostrils widening, he inhaled deeply. And that scent. He turned and spotted her sitting in one of the leather chairs a few feet from his bed, her back to the fading light of the afternoon sky. The French doors, which were open behind her, carried the full force of the ocean breeze, which was flipping the striped gray curtains back and forth in a wild fashion.