Michel/Striker (10 page)

It didn’t matter that there was a crisp edge to the afternoon breeze, or that there was still danger lurking beyond the edges of the bayou. For this moment they were celebrating the newest members of their pack.

It’d been three days since their return to the Wildlands from Bossier City. So far they’d managed to get the Pantera they’d discovered settled in new homes. The human female was still in the medical clinic being treated for shock.

He’d intended to devote his time since their return to mating with Chelsea and disappearing into his home to enjoy a few months of complete privacy.

Unfortunately, he’d had to meet with Raphael and Parish to reveal what he’d discovered in the military lab, as well as the death of Stanton Locke and Colonel Cole. It’d taken precious time. And on top of it, Chelsea had been busy examining the Pantera who’d been locked in the cells. She hoped she could discover exactly what had been done to them and if it might be a danger to them.

They’d barely had a minute alone.

The only thing that’d saved his sanity was the fact that he’d demanded she at least agree to become his mate before they’d ever left Bossier City. There was no way his cat could have maintained any patience without the promise that he soon could claim his mate.

Now he impatiently waited for Chelsea to finish speaking with Gabriella who was trying to adjust to the fundamental changes made to her, as well as her seething anger toward her kidnappers.

He’d hoped to escape with his female before he could be caught. Unfortunately, he was still waiting when Raphael appeared at his side, his golden gaze skimming over the crowd as they began to break away and return to their jobs.

There was an unmistakable satisfaction in his expression.

Despite the fact they hadn’t yet located Christopher, and the Goddess knew how many other enemies lurked in the shadows, they had managed to rescue several of their people. And best of all, Stanton Locke was dead.

The bastard had even given his life to protect Chelsea.

A win/win as far as Michel was concerned.

Waiting until Raphael had reached his side, Michel nodded toward the graceful Colonial-style building that stood on the far side of the clearing.

“Has Xavier managed to salvage anything from the disk drive?”

“Not yet, but you know the Geeks.” Raphael smiled with wry amusement. “They’re not going to give up until they manage to investigate each fragment.”

Michel snorted. “Better them than me.”

“No shit.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “It’s tedious enough to sort through the piles of files you managed to rescue from the lab. I would have had much more fun with Parish, torturing Locke’s guards for information.”

“Have you discovered anything of value?” Michel demanded.

Raphael grimaced. “Nothing that leads us directly to Christopher. But I did manage to find…” The older male’s words trailed away as Michel watched Chelsea finish her conversation and walk in his direction. She was wearing a tight emerald sweater and even tighter jeans that made him growl with excitement. Oh hell. He was going to have pleasure ripping those off her as soon as he got her alone. Suddenly he felt Raphael lay a hand on his shoulder. “Michel, are you listening?”

His rapt gaze never wavered from Chelsea’s beautiful face framed by satin curls that shimmered like flames in the sunlight.

“Nope.” He shook off his friend’s hand. “This meeting is going to have to wait until later.”

Raphael made a sound of impatience. “But it’s important.”

“Not as important as my mate,” he assured his friend.

“You’ve mated?”

“Not yet.” A jolt of anticipation raced through Michel as he headed toward the female who’d taught him that his emotions weren’t something to fear, but to be embraced. “That’s something I intend to take care of right now.”

“But we need Chelsea,” Raphael called from behind him. “There was a female who was brought in who’s suffering. She’s obviously been experimented on by Locke and she’s—”

Michel gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Later. Much, much later,” he muttered. His heart leaped with a pure joy as Chelsea flashed her rare, perfect smile as he reached her. Then, knowing the time was at last right, he leaned down to sweep her off her feet, cradling her tight against his chest. Damn. She felt perfect in his arms. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Michel.” A lovely flush stained her cheeks as several nearby Pantera clapped in gleeful pleasure at his open display of possession. “Have you lost your mind?”

He leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “I think we already established that I lost it the moment I caught sight of you,” he reminded her.

She chuckled as he carried her away from the glade and toward his home that was tucked in a lovely tangle of cypress trees.

“Sometimes you’re a very, very good Diplomat,” she assured him.

His cat brushed beneath his skin, his claws already slicing through his skin in preparation of marking her.

“I intend to be an even better mate,” he swore.

She shivered, her ready desire scenting the air with sweet arousal. “Mate.”

His gaze swept over her face. “Are you ready?”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she regarded him with all the love he’d tried to deny.

“Michel, I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

STRIKER
by
Laura Wright
CHAPTER 1

Twelve

I am a nerve. Raw and humming. The one inside me, pushing, pushing, calling me by my name—my number—keeps me intact. It keeps me from breaking apart and existing no more. It came to me…how long ago? Hours. Days? I don’t remember what those are. Did I ever know?

Pain. Burning. Hungry pain.

It has pulled out of me.

I growl at it.
More
.
More
.

It knows what I mean. It understands my sounds. It understands my teeth. I’ll bite it. Consume it, if it doesn’t come…

Ahhhhh…

It’s flipped me. Something soft catches me, my face, my belly. My hips are yanked up. It’s inside me again. Deep. And it’s thrusting. I feel…better. But not enough. I need the wash of its semen. Spreading over me. Inside me.

Healing me.

Eyes wet. Mine. Why? Pain…but not in my body. My heart. Will this end? Ever end? Not who I used to be. My name is not Twelve. And yet it is.

Hands cup my breasts. I press into them. They are good. Big. Hot. Squeezing me. It—the one inside me—gives me what I want. Always gives. It is good.

My claws dig into the softness. Claws. That’s what they are, yes? I think.

What is thinking?

It makes sound when it’s inside me. I like this sound. My blood is rushing. My insides are exploding. I follow it.

I am coming. It is coming. My body grips, holds tight, sucks until I get want I want. The wash. It hits hard. So hot I can’t breathe. And then it spreads…the relief…inside and over and throughout.

I lie there, panting. Content. My tears dry.

My eyes are clear. I look and see. Where I am. The room. Pretty. White and blue and cool, and warm. I’ve been here before, I think.

What is thinking?

Then I’m covered. My skin is very warm. Like my insides. And I am safe.

It makes me safe.

I sleep.

***

Striker

Seventy-two hours of constant fucking makes a male hungry. The Pantera female is sleeping. I stand at the door watching her, downing a sandwich. I hope she gives me at least fifteen minutes this time. I need fuel. I should change the sheets. Lot of come on that white cotton. Not to mention the rips and tears. For some serious debauchery, they’ve given us one sweet-ass cabin. It’s like Martha Stewart decorated it, then said, “Let’s dial this shit back a little, friends.”

She stirs, and so does my cock. I’m ready. Hell, I’m always ready. It’s part of the reason they chose me. The other part I refuse to acknowledge.

My eyes run over her. Long, pale, naked limbs, small breasts, an ass that will no doubt consume my thoughts for years, long, thick black hair that falls near to the top of that ass—and an angel face that displays every emotion imaginable even though her mind is not her own. She’s lying on her belly, still asleep, her ass pink from my ready hand. I ‘met’ her just seventy-two hours ago, but I know every inch of her.

Every. Inch.

A Pantera male—a normal, sane, feeling Pantera male—would have claimed this female as his own by now. Couldn’t help it. Not only does she give off an unusual and debilitating scent that would have every male in the Wildlands fighting to fuck her, but something happens to our kind with long-term rutting. We connect. We bond. That’s why I was brought in. I’m not your normal, sane or feeling Pantera.

I don’t connect with anything.

She stirs again, but this time she rolls onto her back and shows me that sweet, glistening pussy. My cock fills with blood. I haven’t even bothered to put on underwear. What’s the point? I finish off the roast beef, down the bottle of water on the bedside table, and get back to business.

This female needs sex. Semen. Constantly. And I’m here to give it to her. Until she returns to sanity.

If
she returns.

Her eyes open then and she finds me looming over her. Her eyes are almost otherworldly—the palest blue I’ve ever seen—and they light up when they scale down my chest and abdomen and hit my cock. As usual, she growls. The sound is savage, like she wants to tear me apart and consume. But instead of getting the hell off the bed and out of the cabin, I inch closer. Because every time she does it—that low, feral growl—my dick weeps.

I grab her knees and instantly she lets them fall to the sides. Her eyes pinned to my dick, she slides her hands down her flat belly to her pussy and opens the wet lips for me. My cock releases a drop of come. It’s the only thing on me that feels deeply.

She growls again and snaps her teeth. If I don’t get my tongue on her or my cock inside her, she’ll bite me. She’s already done it twice. Granted, I barely felt it because I was coming, but it broke the skin. Was going to call in one of the female docs, but both gashes stopped bleeding pretty quick, and there wasn’t time for a sew-up job anyway. Besides, she doesn’t seem to like others around. Watching. Can’t blame her, with what she’s been through.

I crawl between her legs. She’s deliciously slick, and I’m always hungry for pussy. Shit. Seventy-two hours in bed. While there’s a war brewing outside this cabin. Things a Hunter should be a part of. Military using the blood of our kind for…what? Research? To create some kind of super soldier? And Stanton Locke’s ‘master’ is still out there, doing damage, spending billions to keep himself alive. And then there’s the secret enclave of Pantera in the Florida Everglades that Hiss has gone to.

I should be working.

Not
playing
.

But Raphael and his new second-in-command, Shadow, think this female might have valuable information to share. I just need to get her to a place of coherence so we can unlock what she knows.

Again she growls at me, her teeth bared.

I grin and whisper softly, “Easy, Twelve. You will have what you need.”

The moment I drop my head, her fingers are threaded in my hair, and her nails dig into my scalp. I’ll be bleeding before this is over.

My lips close over her clit and I suck.

CHAPTER 2

Twelve

There are memories locked inside my mind. I know I have a mind. And a body. And a heart. A cat. And a hunger for this…
it
. This
thing
—no. This creature? No…

My eyes open. I stare. Hard. Try to focus, to see what is truly there. The thing…creature…its eyes—darkest green—slam into mine. The eyes make my insides feel hot and soft. Not like the others. Why? Why is the creature different? My vision cuts left. Over the hard planes of the creature. Light. From the window. Windows. I love windows. They give me hope. I used to live outside the windows. Right now the light is gray and peaceful. But the air is cold. I feel it rush over my skin. I need more warmth, heat, come from the creature—NO! STOP! It is not a creature.
Think. Think
.