Predator's Refuge (8 page)

But she needed to silence her lynx, and her mental efforts weren’t working.

The animal uttered a strangled cry, pushing against her insides with insistence.
Feed me,
it seemed to say.
Give me some hunky man flesh to sink my teeth into. His!

No! Not him
.
I swear to God, lynx, I will send you to the farm if you don’t behave.

Desperate, she thought of Killian and wondered if her friend might still be up for soothing her itches with his jaguar paws. Yes, she’d go to Killian. He’d help her end this insanity. If she allowed herself to let go, as Charlotte suggested, she might even enjoy it.

So why did it feel so wrong, almost sacrilegious, even considering it?

With a careful hand, she lifted the needle from Rosemary’s album and turned off her record player. Letting out a cry of exasperation that echoed her lynx’s, Marci dashed out of her cabin and into the moonlit woods. Running at night had always provided her with a sense of strange peace, and she craved it now. She hid behind a cluster of trees and stripped out of her clothes. As she removed the last item, her panties, her pussy throbbed against the scrape of the soft fabric.

“Oh,” she murmured. As she dropped the panties to the ground, she gave in to temptation and touched her swollen labia. They were always swollen nowadays, pink and raw, aching for the touch of an experienced man. One who could bring her to satiation point with a mere brush of his fingers or flick of his tongue.

Stifling a cry, she dropped to her knees and sucked in a deep breath. As she allowed her body to undergo its unusual transformation, she shivered as her pores flared and burst with silver-brown fur. She spread her fingers on the ground, and watched through luminescent eyes as the digits expanded into large, fluffy paws. Her cheeks tingled as tiny hairs sprouted on her face and turned into long whiskers, and her ears quivered and lengthened into the unique tufted ears of the Canada lynx. Her ass shook and her stumpy tail appeared.

Inhaling the scents of the forest, Marci’s lynx dashed between the trees and headed for Killian’s cabin.

It didn’t take long before she caught another scent on the wind, one that was already ingrained in her brain.

His
. Anton’s.

Changing direction, she paced on velvet, padded feet toward Cabin 47, even as her human mind sought to carry her back toward Killian. In minutes, she was at Anton’s open window. With the stealth inherent to her species, Marci shifted back and tiptoed toward his window. With infinite slowness, she peered in.

Sweet Jesus. He just had to be naked again.

Of course, shifters loved being nude. The minute she got into the privacy of her own cabin she shed her clothes too.

Anton was asleep, his large body draped across his couch. The TV was on and she heard the dignified tones of a BBC reporter. A silent laugh made her chest rumble. News reports usually caused her to drop off as well.

Within seconds, she heard another noise, one that came from Anton. As he fidgeted in his sleep, kicking at the throw pillows at the end of the couch, he moaned. His hands clenched at his sides, as if preparing for a confrontation. Back and forth he rolled on the sofa, making it creak under his weight. His brow was furrowed and his mouth drawn into a tight line. At one point, he stopped and swatted his face, as if trying to erase the vexation haunting him. As he lay there, his cock bounced to life and he grunted in what appeared to be terrible frustration.

“Father, no,” he cried.

Marci tried to look away and couldn’t. And not simply because he was such a spectacular sight to see, but because his impassioned cry broke her heart. What on earth was he dreaming about, and why did he sound scared of his own father?

After a couple of moments, a groan escaped him and he sat up with a start, throwing his legs over the side of the couch. He stared, disoriented, at the floor, and then covered his face with his hands. Even though his face was covered, she could see the lines of stress on his forehead under his fingers.

His torn expression made her want to sit with him, to rub his back and comfort him.

After a few moments, he let his hands fall, and they came together, white-knuckled. He spread his legs, giving her a wicked view of his substantial erection, and he closed his eyes once more. At first she thought he might be meditating, but then she realized she was mistaken. His lips moved. He crossed himself. Several times.

Was he praying?

The knowledge staggered her. She wasn’t sure she knew anyone who prayed anymore. She hadn’t done it herself since she was a gangly child, who used to bargain with God every night from her bed, begging the Almighty to make her a normal girl. One who wouldn’t one day become some sort of creature feature.

As much as she wanted to try to read his lips, she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his body. So long and powerful of frame. Even his toes and wrists and knees, body parts she wouldn’t normally lust after, struck her as particularly seductive. She continued to watch as he rested his hands upward on his knees in supplication. For a moment, he sat completely still.

And then, as his face crumpled a little, he stretched out his legs and sighed. With a shaking hand, he reached for his cock, and stroked it slowly from base to tip.

Clearly, prayer time was over.

He let out a grunt and began to gently pump, his hand moving in deliberate circular motions. He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the cushion, and swore in what had to be the most vulgar of Hungarian curses, based on their guttural vehemence.

Deep inside her, the naughty lynx presented its ass to him, shaking it in his direction like the wanton hussy it was.

Unable to help herself, Marci slid her fingers down to her pussy and burrowed deep between her folds, her gaze always on him and the intoxicating movements at his crotch. Her eyelids fluttered and she teased her labia, gently pulling them and smoothing her juices over her puffy clit. As her heart hammered in her chest and echoed in her head, she tapped the swollen button, on the verge of shredding into ribbons at Anton’s window.

This is so wrong!

And yet, she needed it. She needed to finally give in to the wild sense of abandon rocking the periphery of her world. She wanted to surrender to the maenad-like debauchery unfurling in her core. And she needed to do it in Anton Gaspar’s presence, even if he didn’t know she was there.

A sudden movement inside his room caught her attention. She froze. He opened his eyes and looked at the window, his green gaze focused on her. His jaw fell open. For a moment, neither of them did or said a thing. His hand rested on his cock, motionless, just as hers was on her pussy. And then he sat up.

“Marci.”

Oh, fuck. He would have caught her scent. How could he not? Her moisture was all over her hand. What was she thinking?

“No,” she cried softly. This wasn’t what she wanted. How had she allowed herself to do this? She could be fired for this, never mind arrested.

Bye-bye assistant manager
.

Anton rose to his feet and stepped toward the window. “Don’t go.”

As hot tears threatened the corners of her eyes, Marci shifted back into her cursed lynx and escaped into the woods.

To make her mortification complete, he followed with a swiftness that astounded her, shifting as soon as he was out the door. His tiger bounded through the trees like orange lightning. As much as she increased her speed, she was no match for him. Her lynx might be smaller and agile, but she knew full well tigers were built for stealth and speed. Hoping to lose him, she darted between a couple of thick oaks, veering off into another part of the forest.

Despite her unexpected turn, Anton remained right behind her.

That was when the smell hit her. Fresh blood.

She stopped moving and Anton caught up. Immediately, his tiger ears went back and his nostrils flared. He smelled it too. He turned to her and a low growl of warning issued from his throat.

Together, they crept toward a clearing from which the scent seemed to emanate. As they drew nearer, Anton nudged her aside with his nose so he could peer into the clearing first. Within seconds, he bounded into the clearing like a firefighter headed for a blaze. Marci watched as he shifted, and took note of his pale face. She followed him the last few steps into the clearing.

April, the hare girl who’d won the race, lay in a pool of her own blood.

Horrified, Marci shifted and ran to join Anton as he crouched by the girl’s head. She stifled a cry as she glimpsed the terrible bite marks near the girl’s carotid artery. Thank God, she was still breathing. As tears pooled in her eyes, she whispered, “Who could do this?”

Anton picked up April’s limp body and looked at Marci, his face ripped apart by sympathy and some sort of deep-seated horror. “We’ll find out. Let’s get her back to my cabin and take care of her wounds. She’ll be okay with some attention. Luckily we got here before she bled out.” He cocked his head at her. “I’ll call the police once we’re inside.”

She straightened, as much as she wanted to buckle. A young girl had been attacked on the grounds of the Ursa Lodge, while she was in charge. Swallowing bile, she fought the urge to vomit. She’d never stop feeling sick over this. However, her need to hurl did no good to April. The girl needed her to be strong now. “No. I’ll call them. It’s my job. Let’s go.”

And without another thought for her need to mate, or their nudity, she ran with Anton back to his cabin. They quickly tended to the girl’s wounds, covering them in gauze. Anton rifled quickly through his drawers and pulled out clothes for both of them. Once dressed in gym clothes that were way too big for her, Marci called the security office for help. She then put on her best assistant manager face and called April’s parents to let them know of the savage attack.

* * * *

The next day, eyes bleary and still biting back the urge to throw up chunks, Marci did her best to man the front desk without looking like a crazy person. Charlotte brought her a third coffee before her cleaning rounds, and Marci practically gulped the hot liquid, scalding her tongue. She didn’t mind, hoping it would keep her mind off other things.

Like the memory of a girl lying in a thickening puddle of blood.

The only blessing was that April had somehow pulled through in the early morning. Aside from her parents, Marci and Anton had both been there. So had a couple of shape-shifter officers from the mainland police force.

April hadn’t recalled much about the attack. She’d gone for a run late at night, still high from her race win and wanting to stretch her legs. As she’d gotten deeper into the forest, she’d had the sensation of being followed, but like so many victims, shrugged it off, thinking she was paranoid.

Within seconds, something big and furry had pounced on her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

They’d questioned her, hoping she’d at least remember what sort of animal it was, but she’d been vague. It had been big, that much she’d known, and she’d heard growling. But beyond that, she’d been so terrified, she hadn’t even been sure of fur color or body shape. Whatever the predator had been, it was one accustomed to attacking from behind, a devious powerhouse of an animal.

Charlotte sipped from her own coffee cup, eyeing the wary employees working the desk with Marci. News of the attack had spread, and everyone was on guard. “Jeez,” Charlotte whispered. “I’ve never seen this place so morose.”

Marci shook her head and she gripped her cup. “She’s just a kid. Why would someone do this?”

“Maybe it was an accident. A real animal might have found its way to the island and decided to make April his late-night snack.”

“Charlotte, yuck.”

“What? It’s possible.” She lowered her voice when a couple of people looked their way. “She’s just a tiny hare, for God’s sake. She’d look pretty tempting to a cougar or a mountain lion. Do the cops have any leads?”

“No, but they’re working with security. Killian and Anton are lending a hand too, corralling the kids, advising them not to wander alone.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “Anton, huh?” She elbowed her friend. “Wanna talk about him to lighten the mood?”

Marci rested her aching head in her hand. “No. I really don’t.”

Earlier that morning, in a moment of weakness, she’d spilled the news about her evening adventures to Charlotte. Including the part before the attack, where she’d gotten all hot and bothered outside Anton’s window. And now, even though she was happy to have someone to talk to, she was starting to regret sharing her troubles with her blunter-than-blunt friend.

“I still can’t believe you got naked outside his window. I’m proud of you, Marce.”

“I’m not. He works for me. What kind of message does that send?” Marci grumbled, bringing her needy lips to the cup for another long sip.

“Actually, he works for Ryland, so don’t be so hard on yourself. Look, think of it this way, if you hadn’t shown up at his cabin, you wouldn’t have run from him, and would never have found April. Sounds like karma to me,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic smile. “I think, when this attack business is resolved, you’re going to need to confront your feelings for Anton.”

“I don’t have feelings for him.” Her lynx lurched in objection.

“Right,” Charlotte drawled. “And I don’t have feelings for a nice chilled bottle of Chardonnay.”

Right on cue, the object of her nonfeelings walked into the lodge. Anton appeared in reception, lips compressed in a determined line. She gave her bare face a vigorous rub, glad she wasn’t smearing mascara. Normally she wore makeup to work, but this morning she hadn’t had the energy to apply even a dash of lip gloss.

He looked toward them and made a beeline for Marci, no doubt to inform her of his sexual harassment complaint and intention to sue her for disgusting damages outside his window. They hadn’t spoken about her behavior yet, but she’d known it was coming.

“Shit,” she whispered. She gripped her pen hard until she heard a strange snap. Looking down, she realized she’d snapped the pen in half and was now leaking ink on her hand.