Bayon/Jean-Baptiste (Bayou Heat) (5 page)

Keira wasn’t surprised that she dreamed she was in her cat form. It was how she hung on to what little remained of her sanity.

But the dreams had never been so tangible she could actually feel the sun slanting over her slumbering body, warming her pelt with a delicious heat, or hear the sound of splashing water playing like a symphony in the background.

She desperately tried to cling to the dream. She didn’t want to wake to find herself in the cramped attic with the collar wrapped around her neck and the stench of the nearby humans making her want to hurl.

But there was something that felt like a rock digging into her ass, and a strange heat pressed against her back.

Slowly she forced open her eyes, tensing as she realized she wasn’t in the cage. This was…a cave.

But not just any cave. Her favorite cave.

And she was most definitely in cat form, lying in the late morning sunlight.

Which meant she’d been asleep for hours.

Without thought, she was shifting back to human, whirling around to find a beautiful golden puma slumbering directly behind her.

Bayon.

The name came easily, her mind slowly beginning to clear as she breathed in his warm, musky scent.

Home. Dear lord. She was home.

Distantly she was aware that she was completely nude, the side effect of being forced into a shift, and that there were still large holes in her memories. But suddenly she was consumed with the need to prove this was more than a dream.

That she was really, truly saved.

“Bayon,” she murmured softly, reaching to run her fingers through his soft pelt.

He was a magnificent cat.

Large, muscular, fiercely male.

She’d been overwhelmingly attracted to him from the moment he’d been old enough to join the Hunters. No shocker. Bayon started breaking female hearts before he ever left the nursery.

He was gorgeous, brash and too damned charming for his own good.

And as far as Keira was concerned, he’d also been firmly off-limits.

She told herself it was because he was too young for her.

All male Pantera were horndogs, or rather horncats, once they hit puberty, and Bayon was no different. When he wasn’t training or on duty his only thought was getting laid. Keira hadn’t had any interest in being another notch in his bed.

Not when she’d had far more mature lovers who could ease her needs.

The sort of lovers who understood her position as the leader of the Hunters, and never crossed her barriers.

Bayon wouldn’t have recognized a boundary if it bit him on the ass.

But a part of her had always known that was an excuse to shut down his persistent pursuit of her.

Deep inside she’d been a coward.

In hindsight it was easy to see.

Bayon was too bossy, too demanding, too…everything, to be a comfortable partner. And for a woman struggling to maintain her alpha status, it’d been easier to slam the door on the fragile bond she could sense trying to form between them than to struggle against Bayon’s natural tendency to dominate.

Now, however, she didn’t give a shit about complications or politics or any other stupid reason she shouldn’t give into her needs.

Her cat had been without touch far too long, and her female knew exactly which man she wanted to ease her hungers.

On cue, Bayon lifted his head, his eyes more gold than green when he was in his cat form, warming with a genuine pleasure as he shifted in a flurry of magic.

Keira shivered beneath a blast of lust as the cat was replaced with a large, delectable male dressed only in a pair of faded jeans. Oh, shit. His chest was even broader than it had been, and tattooed with tribal markings that flowed down the side of his lean waist.

He’d hardened over the years. Matured into the lethal warrior she’d sensed from the beginning. But there was still a twinkle of the boyish charm deep in his eyes.

Irresistible.

She growled low in her throat as she kneeled directly in front of him, shoving her fingers into the satin gold of his shoulder length hair.

“Welcome home, honey,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

Acting on pure instinct, Keira leaned forward to kiss the lips that she’d fantasized about in the privacy of her bed. Instant, molten heat flared through her. Oh god, he tasted so good. Male spice and pure power.

She moaned as nerve endings she hadn’t felt for years sparked to life. Her fingers tightened in his hair as his lips parted in ready response, a tantalizing musk filling the air with the scent of his arousal.

“Christ, I missed you,” he muttered against her lips.

Her desire flooded through her, the need to be close to this man so intense it was painful.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, arching her back so she could press the tips of her aching breasts against his chest.

A moan was wrenched from his throat, but even as his hands cupped her hips, he was lifting his head to study her with a wary expression.

“Keira?”

With a shove, she had him flat on his back. Quickly straddling his hips, she allowed her hands to explore the smooth terrain of his chest.

“I need to feel your touch,” she said in husky tones, her breath hissing through her clenched teeth as he spanned her waist, before his fingers skimmed up her sides to cup the small mounds of her breasts. “Yes,” she said in approval, leaning forward to spread a path of kisses over the silken heat of his skin, pausing long enough to lick a flat nipple. “More.”

He shuddered, his erection thickening to press against the zipper of his jeans. Deliberately Keira ground herself against his bulge, her pussy growing wet. She needed that hard cock deep inside her.

Now.

His slender fingers teased her nipples with exquisite expertise, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through her shivering body. She released a shaky breath, craving him with a force that defied logic.

There was a flash of heated gold in his eyes as his cat responded to her touch, but even as a purr of approval rumbled through her chest, Bayon tensed beneath her.

“Wait, Keira,” he growled.

She nipped his collarbone, hard enough to draw blood. “No, don’t stop.”

With a muttered curse he surged to the side, reversing their positions until she was on her back and he was perched on top of her.

Keira might have protested if it didn’t feel so damned good to have his weight pressing against her trembling body. Her legs were spread to allow his lower body to rest between them, his fully erect cock pressing near her precise point of pleasure.

Bayon scowled. “What’s going on?”

Her gaze dropped to admire the bulging muscles of his biceps, oddly disturbed by the searching question in his eyes.

She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel.

“You’re the last man who needs an explanation for what’s going on,” she said, refusing to dwell on the number of females who’d enjoyed Bayon’s touch. The thought was far more painful than it should be. Then she stiffened, struck by a horrifying fear. “Unless you’re mated?”

His scowl deepened. “Christ, no.”

Sheer relief had her reaching up to frame his face in her hands, tugging his head downward.

“Then kiss me.”

He made a sound deep in his throat as he allowed his mouth to crash into hers, kissing her with a raw hunger that demanded capitulation. A capitulation Keira was eager to give.

So long as it was on her terms.

Angling her hips so his cock pressed directly against her clit, she bit the tongue he shoved into her mouth, before sucking it with a rhythmic insistence that had him moaning in sheer male need.

Her fingers skimmed over his bronzed face, taking an amazing delight in the hard angles and planes. He wasn’t pretty. He was too male, his features too bluntly carved. But he had a compelling beauty that enthralled her.

Taking her time, Keira memorized the prominent line of his cheekbone and the sensuous curve of his lips. During the brutal years she’d been held captive, she’d discovered that she had no regrets for the things she’d done, but she had plenty of regrets for the things she hadn’t done.

Things like this.

She stroked the line of his stubborn jaw, relishing the rough stubble of his beard as she rubbed herself against the delicious hardness of his erection.

Bayon growled, then with a last thrust of his tongue he wrenched his lips free to bury his face in the curve of her neck. He bit into her flesh with enough pressure to send white-hot lust jolting through her.

She hissed in pleasure. Yes…oh yes. She needed this.

Running her hands down the impressive width of his back, she grabbed the waistband of his jeans, impatiently trying to tug them down.

“Off,” she muttered in frustration.

“Wait.” With a harsh groan, he arched back to stare down at her flushed face. “Keira.”

Her hands skimmed to the front of his jeans, struggling with the snap. “What?”

“Stop.”

She frowned, wrapping her fingers around the massive erection that pressed against his zipper.

“Why?”

His pained groan echoed through the cave. “Because twelve hours ago you didn’t even remember me.”

She abruptly turned her head, pretending an interest in the nearby waterfall. “I was…confused.”

She could feel the heat of his gaze searing over her profile. “And now you’re not?”

“I know what I need.”

“And what’s that?”

She reluctantly turned back to meet his demanding gaze. “I need to know you’re real,” she breathed. “That
I’m
real.”

“Shit.” His face twisted with an agonized regret, then before Keira could guess his intent, he was seated on the ground with her trembling body cradled in his lap. “I have you,” he murmured as she instinctively tried to escape his hold, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “And I’m not letting go. Not ever again.”

She should have been pissed. This was supposed to be a hot, sweaty bout of sex that would ease the hunger she’d had for this male for years and prove once and for all that she was out of the damned cell.

No fuss. No muss.

Just a glorious knowledge that she was able to do exactly what she wanted.

But as swiftly as her desire had exploded, it altered to a different, but just as savage need.

Comfort.

The feel of Bayon’s hand softly stroking up and down her bare back. The warm, familiar musk of his cat. The sound of his heart beating beneath her ear.

She snuggled against him, feeling the magic of the land seep inside her.

It should have added to her comfort.

The magic had healed her cat. It soothed the damage done to her human form by the damned collar. And with every passing second it was repairing the damage to her mind.

All fan-fucking-tastic things, if there wasn’t something buried in the depths of her brain that was wigging her out.

Something she wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not yet.

“No one knows I’m here?”

“No,” he swiftly assured her, nuzzling his face in her hair. He was such a cat. “But you realize they’re going to skin me when they find out I didn’t tell them you’re alive?”

She grimaced. It wasn’t fair to force Bayon to choose between protecting her and his loyalty to fellow Hunters, but the suffocating dread that enveloped her didn’t give a shit. And for now she wasn’t strong enough to battle through it.

“I’m not ready,” she muttered.

Thankfully Bayon didn’t press, perhaps sensing she was still dangerously fragile. “Can you tell me how you disappeared?” he instead demanded.

She paused, trying to sift through the memories that were a strange patchwork of perfect clarity and murky confusion.

Now that she was home, she could clearly remember her childhood playing in this cave with Parish. And the day she’d taken command of the Hunters. And even eyeballing Bayon when he was too occupied to notice her fascinated survey.

But the second she tried to concentrate on the events leading up to her kidnapping, her brain began to sputter and shut down. Like a computer with a virus.

“It’s still fragmented,” she admitted, her voice tight with frustration.

His hand continued to run a soothing path up and down her spine. “We thought you were dead.” He was forced to halt and clear his throat as he relived the day of her disappearance. “Parish could sense you were being attacked, then suddenly his connection to you was severed. He searched for you for months, but his cat was convinced you were dead.”

She hissed with dark fury, knowing her death would have tormented her brother. It wouldn’t be enough for Parish to mourn her passing. No, he would’ve made certain he carried the full weight of guilt for having failed her.

Damn, but she wanted to make those bastards pay for what they’d done.

“I think they had some sort of black magic that blocked my connection to my cat,” she said.