Michel/Striker (12 page)

The screen door bursts open and a male wearing blue jeans and a faded gray T-shirt walks in. He’s pissed, ferocious, and when he spots me on the couch, his eyes run over my body. A slow tingle makes its way up my spine. My body remembers him, even though my mind does not. This tall, heavily muscled Pantera, with short hair the color of night and eyes so dark green—and so fierce, I imagine everyone who stands before him trembles.

Everyone beneath him, too.

“Okay,” he says, stalking over to me, completely ignoring Dr. Julia. “We need to talk.”

My heart stirs with pleasure at his voice, and I instantly feel a calming sensation move over me.
Yes
, my body says,
this is the one
. Unfortunately the doctor’s body is on high alert. She immediately gets in between us and puts her finger in the male’s broad chest.

“Striker,” she begins, her tone a blatant warning. “You need to go back outside and come in again with a new attitude.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I say quickly, before he can respond.

Striker turns to me, Julia too, and I give the woman a nod.
It’s good. It’s fine.
Surprised, she shakes her head, but gets out of the way. Green eyes blaze down on me. Curious. Irritated. It’s strange, but I don’t remember what this male and I did in this house over the past three days. I mean, I know because I was told, and because I have my sanity again. But I don’t remember it. All I have is a feeling. A deep connection. A sensation of well-being.

With this male, I am whole and protected.

I glance at Julia. It’s time for her to go. “Thank you, doctor,” I say pointedly.

She takes the hint, but is clearly concerned and hovers for a moment. “I can stay for awhile.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her.

“Parish is working, and I don’t have to rush back to the clinic.”

This time, Striker shoots her a severe glare. “She wants to be alone with me, Doc. Take a hint, and a hike.”

“With how you’re behaving,” she says, “do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” I say, rising from the couch. I have endless amounts of weakness inside me. My brain is sharp only when I get sufficient sex, my heart is mutilated, my nerves are shot…but I’m out of that hellhole. I’m alive, and I’m going to take what I want. What I deserve.

And what I deserve is to put the pieces of my life back together.

“I’ll call if I need anything, Dr. Julia.” I walk to the door and hold it open for her.

She looks from Striker to me, then back at Striker. She releases a breath. “You’d better behave yourself,” she warns before grabbing her bag.

He sniffs. “Sure thing.”

“You have my cell number,” she tells me as she heads out into the late afternoon sunshine.

“I do. Thanks, Julia.”

I close the door and return to the couch. As soon as I sit, I pat the leather cushion beside me. “I’m glad you came, Striker.”

He remains standing. “It wasn’t my choice, Female.”

I pretend not to feel a slight jab of pain. He doesn’t want to be here. No. He doesn’t want to be
ordered
to be here. I understand that. “Regardless, I appreciate it.”

“Maybe you can tell me why.”

“I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I want to go home.”

It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and he takes a moment to process it. “And where is that exactly?”

I sort of do this half laugh. Shrug. “I don’t know. Can you please sit down?”

With a frustrated grunt, he drops into the seat beside me. He’s so big, long and formidable, and yet I know he would never hurt me. Not in a physical way.

“I’m hoping you can help me find out where I belong,” I say, my eyes connecting with his. “Help me remember.”

His dark brows knit together. “And how would I do that?” His voice is so deep, with a hint of a growl.

I lift my chin. “Same way you helped my mind return.”

His jaw goes instantly tight, and he grinds out, “That’s over. That was a dire situation. One I was called in to fix.”

I flinch, the little stab of pain in my belly flaring again. It’s bizarre. This male is so dark, so cold, so curt. The way he talks, I’m nothing more than a mission to be completed, and yet my feelings toward him, whatever memory my cells have captured, is completely the opposite.

“It’s been promised that you’ll stay here,” I say. “With me, for the next few days.”

“To guard you,” he clarifies. “Protect you.”

“Not have sex with me?” I have no pride. Not when it comes to finding out the truth about my past.

“No.” He turns away from me and eyes the other side of the cottage. “I need a shower. Then we’ll discuss dinner.”

My shoulders droop a little as he walks away. All I want is to remember who I was before I was taken. I have to know that female again to be able to leave this female behind. Striker is the key to unlocking my memories. I know it. But I truly despise the fact that after all I’ve been through, all the males who have come sniffing so over-eagerly around me for years, I have to work to attract this one. This one who seems unaffected by both the pheromones those cold bastards at the lab put into me, and the time we spent together over the past three days.

But I will see to it. And I won’t be ashamed. Seducing Striker will be new ground for me. And in the end, it will be worth it.

***

Striker

She can’t cook. I, on the other hand, kick ass in the culinary department. About thirty minutes ago, a bunch of groceries were delivered to the cabin door. No note. And no Pantera in sight. Like Twelve and I are fucking newly mated or something.

I venture a quick glance in her direction.

Wearing a pale pink terrycloth robe, she stands against the counter and watches me as I stir the sauce for the chicken parm. It’s unnerving. How she looks at me.

Here’s the thing: it’s not that I’m unaffected by whatever shit those bastards put into her. Pheromones, love potions, voodoo charms… Or her natural hotness. I am. I just don’t allow desire to rule my mind and actions. Even if it’s crushing desire.

Shit, especially crushing desire.

Problem is, I’ve had this female. I’ve ruled her body for three days straight. I know what she feels like, tastes like. Her cream is still on my tongue, for fuck’s sake—and I want more.

At just the thought, my insides flood with heat as my cock remembers her too.

“You can go chill out somewhere while I finish this up,” I suggest, my voice thick with annoyance. At myself, this time. Not her. My thoughts are running rogue. It’s bullshit. But I know if I’m continually around her, I might fuck her again. And if I fuck her again, I’ll lose some of the control I’ve harnessed for the past seven years.

And I can’t let that happen. I nearly drowned before.

“No, thanks,” she says. “I like watching you.”

I turn and growl at her. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Her eyes flicker with tension, but she doesn’t jump or move or run. As I’d hoped. Instead, she talks.

“I know you’re angry with me.”

Fuck
. I turn back to the sauce. “I’m not angry. I’m not anything.”

“Well, I know you don’t want to be here.”

“It’s pointless. My job was completed. I don’t like repetition. It breeds…confusion and attachment.”

“Oh for shit’s sake,” she grinds out. “I’m not asking for a mating, Striker. So if that’s what you’re freaked out about, don’t be. As soon as I find out who I really am and where I’m from, I’m out of here. There’s no confusion. No attachment. I just want sex.”

My cock twitches. I put down the spoon and sigh. At least I intend it to be a sigh. I think it comes out more like a growl. I cut her a look. Her thick dark hair’s piled on top of her head. I remember how it looks in every light. Those pale blue eyes too. And her skin…

“Is it that you don’t find me attractive?” she asks.

I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s it. You repulse me, Twelve.”

“Well then, is it you?” Her eyebrows lift in a very mocking way. “Things not working down there when you want them to?”

I flash her my puma.

Her lips twitch. “Then I see no problem. I don’t want anything from you but this.” She grabs the two strips of terrycloth at her waist and unties them.

“Don’t—” I grind out.

But she’s not listening to me. She shimmies out of the robe, lets it drop in a pool at her feet and stands there, her hip against the counter, naked.

Every inch of my body erupts. Can’t help it. Can’t stop it. My skin, my cock, my tongue, my hands—they all know her. And to know Twelve is to want her. She has the kind of face and body painters dream of capturing. Expressive eyes, full lips, pale skin, dangerous curves, perfect vee of curls between her legs, and breasts so round and high, a male’s hands can’t help but pulse with anticipation.

I turn back to face the stove once again and start dishing up the chicken parm. When I have two full plates in my shaking hands, I stalk past her—beautiful perfect, naked her—and head for the porch.

For air.

Cold, night air.

“Bring the wine on the counter,” I call back. “And a couple of glasses.”

Maybe drunk Striker will have better luck at keeping his hunger for this female under control.

CHAPTER 4

Twelve

It’s a little cold to be sitting outside naked, but I make it work. Across the table, Striker shovels food into his mouth without looking up. He hasn’t met my gaze in nearly five minutes.

“I know you want to know too,” I say.

“What?”

“Where I’m from. How I got into the lab. How a Pantera female was made into a breeding machine.” I laugh. A thankful, yet bitter sound. “A breeding machine who never bred.”

His eyes lift at that. He has the most beautiful eyes. Terrifying eyes. Soulful eyes.

“That’s right,” I say. “With all the drugs and the males and the endless… They never got what they wanted.”

His face pales, and his nostrils flare with ire. “Fuck, Twelve, thank the Goddess.”

I nod. “Agreed.”

“I’m sorry if that was too flippant or insensitive.”

“It’s fine. And true.” I’m not looking for pity. I’m really not. I’m talking to him, being real with him, because I want him to understand the depth of my need. How coming out of something like that, a prison for both my body and my mind, makes me desperate for freedom and answers and truth.

To the point where I’ll sit at a table, on a porch, without clothes—the sunset bathing my naked skin in orange light. My eyes move over the view, the intense green, the massive cypress and the bayou rushing softly by.

“Has the Wildlands always been your home?” I ask him.

He nods. “Haven’t ventured outside of it all that much. Have a trip coming up, but mostly it’s just hitting up The Cougar’s Den.”

I look back at him. “What is that? A safe house?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. A smile is rare for him. I’ve never seen it—that I can recall—but it looks amazing on him. I wonder what it would feel like to have that smile above me as he moves inside—

“It’s a bar,” he says, cutting off my thoughts. And good thing too, I suppose. “In La Pierre. A town not far from our borders.”

“Do a lot of the Pantera go there?”

He nods.

I’m suddenly alive with excitement. “Can I go there?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, come on. Why not?”

“Look at you.”

I do. For a second, I glance down at what I already know. I’m naked. Then find his gaze once again. “I can always put some clothes on. Doc Julia gave me a couple of really nice things.”

“Good,” he says, dropping his napkin on his plate. “Why don’t you go do that, then? Like, now.”

“So that means we’re going to this Cougar’s Den?”

“No.”

I scoff. “Then forget the clothes.”

He sighs. “You know we can’t go out, Twelve.”

“Because I’m hideous.”

“Exactly.”

I laugh. “Because I smell.”

That smile returns, and this time it hits those emerald eyes full blast.
Gorgeous.
I think I need to fan myself.

“You most definitely smell,” he continues. His chin drops and he says almost covertly, “Too fucking good for it to be safe. I’ll be knocking males out right and left.”

I’d like to see that
, I almost say.

“And that wouldn’t be fair to them, now would it?” he adds.

Party pooper.
I fiddle with the rest of my chicken. “Would I be a total bitch if I said I don’t care about fairness? Or those males? I just want to do something normal. Something every other Pantera gets to do.”

He studies me for a moment.

“I mean, what’s the point of being free, if you’re really not?”

He inhales sharply, and a shadow crosses his gaze. “How long has it been since you shifted?”

Just the question sends my heart into my gut. It’s a question I stopped asking and thinking years ago. I shake my head, and sudden tears threaten to close my throat. “I can barely recall it. Early on in the lab, I was given so many drugs, first to bring my puma to the surface, then to repress it. This happened to many of us. Even the males who…you know…”