Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (2 page)

A
s omens went
, finding himself bound to a chair, fully clothed, didn’t bode well. Not that Daryl had anything against bondage. It should be noted that were he naked and with a lady friend, he would totally be
up
for it.

Alas, he wasn’t being prepped for an erotic experience by a hottie in a latex suit.
So if I’m not tied up for sex, then why am I a prisoner?

There was a light somewhere behind him, probably a lamp given it didn’t come from overhead. It provided enough illumination to see his odd situation. He was seated in a straight-back, metal-framed chair with a plastic bucket to cradle his large frame. The kind of chair most often seen in cafeterias and, judging by the wobble when he swished his hips, not too solid.

That’s method number one to escape.

Two was snapping the tape that bound him to the chair. A simple twist of his large upper body should do it.

Onto the third item, what of his hands? Those were, surprisingly enough, taped in front of him.

By who, fucking amateurs? Don’t they know how dangerous I am?

Who the hell secured a deadly predator with their hands in their lap? It wasn’t conceit to think of himself as perilous, just fact.

Daryl tested the tape binding his wrists together, only a few strips thick. Too easy, yet, he didn’t break it right away. Never act too hasty, not if he wanted the element of surprise and more information. But he almost forgot his own rule when he noted the duct tape was patterned with…ducks?

What the heck?

He peered down and, sure enough, more of the happy yellow rubber duckies swam across his chest on the tape layered there.

Mmm… Duck.
His feline did so enjoy a well-roasted one.

Apart from feeling a little peckish, Daryl was wondering if this was a joke. After all, this was the least intimidating abduction he’d ever heard of. When he recounted this story to his buds, he’d have to make sure he changed the ducks to sharks because at least they had big teeth. Or maybe he’d tell them he broke out of chains.

Yeah, big silver chains.
That would impress his friends.

The dim light barely illuminated the place. Probably a good thing given he was pretty sure the pink carpet, worn smooth in spots, was a relic from the nineties while the television, in its hulking, plastic case should have collapsed the dresser.

A classy motel, probably on the side of the highway somewhere, used as a quick pit stop by truckers and those looking for a place to wash and rest on a journey to somewhere.

But how did I get here?

That was the question because last he recalled, he was chatting with that lovely cocoa-skinned woman—and he meant
woman,
with curves that fill his palms, luscious lips that would look perfect about waist height, and dark, curly hair that spilled over her shoulders.

Hair that I wanted to pull, which was why I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere quieter.

To his surprise, she’d readily agreed, and they’d gone outside. Whereupon she fucking stabbed him with a needle!

So wasn’t it any wonder when she walked in, not even two seconds after his recollection, he blurted out, “You’re the bitch that drugged me.” And despite what she’d done, he still found her freaking hot, even if she did have a gun pointed at his face.

“There’s no need for nasty names.”

“Says the woman who drugged and kidnapped me.”

“This is your fault. You left me no choice.”

“No choice but to accost me?” How dare she attack him with her lips and sensual nature!

“What else could I do? You shouldn’t have tried to get me drunk and force me to make out with you.”

Forced? The pliant lips beneath his and the hot pants were anything but. “You could have said no.”

“That’s the problem. I couldn’t, which is totally your fault and why I had to abduct you.”

The logic went right over his head. He blinked. It still made no sense, especially the fact that she appeared irritated with him for being…too attractive? “I think this is the first time in my life I’ve been tempted to throttle a woman.” And then kiss her.

The gun waved in the air. “You go ahead and try it, darlin’. But I warn you. I can feel my finger getting twitchy.” She canted her head to the side and smiled as she threatened. Spoken with confidence, yet he caught how she licked her lower lip, and her breathing was a little fast.

“I have something to cure that twitch and a whole lot of other things.” And, yes, he made sure she got what he meant with a wink.

What he didn’t expect was that she would laugh and say, “You wish you were man enough to handle me.”

A dare? How he loved a challenge, just like he enjoyed this repartee. If he’d found her appealing in the bar when they flirted, now she was downright scrumptious. “You probably shouldn’t have said that.”

Time to up the stakes and show her who truly was in control. He smiled as he snapped the tape holding his hands. Let his lips quirk as he stood, with the chair stuck to him, and flexed, sending it crashing to the floor.

She slowly backed away, the gun never wavering, a touch of fear finally sparking in her eyes, but not enough to worry him, not when he could sense her skin heating as well.

What game did she play? Was this a prank? Something concocted by his buddies? Did they wait nearby, ready to mock him for having been taken down by a woman?

He didn’t really care.

Wanna play.
And it wasn’t just his inner kitty that thought it.

“I’ll give you a five-second head start,” he offered.

Because this cat did so love a chase.

Growrrr.

Instead of bolting, though, she pulled the trigger at almost point-blank range.

P
robably
. She might not, on the other hand.

The look on Daryl’s face when the paintball hit him in the forehead and then spattered? Incredulous, and funny, which was why she laughed.

As for his not-so-human roar? Yeah, that got him shot a second time, in the gut.

“Would you stop doing that?” he snapped.

The yellow paint running down his cheeks made his irritated expression more clownish than scary.

Since she’d apparently miscalculated—something that didn’t happen often, given she was good with numbers—she thought,
what the hell
. She shot him again.

An expression of disgust crossed his face. “Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

Click
.
Click
. The stupid thing jammed, and she was out of ideas.

Tossing the gun at him, Cynthia squeaked as she dove to the side. She wasn’t quite sure where she thought she was going, but Daryl caught her easily enough and bound her tightly in his arms. They proved a lot more effective than her tape.

This situation probably wasn’t good, so could her body stop tingling in excitement because he held her clamped to his chest?

But we like this chest.
Her inner wolf liked it so much it thought she should lick Daryl and mark him as off-limits.

Um no.
More because she did kind of worry that licking might lead to other things, fun things they’d probably both enjoy, if he didn’t kill her first.

“Who are you, and what are you doing?” He gave her a slight shake.

Was he seriously trying to steal the whole give-me-answers scenario from her? “Oh, heck no, darlin’. This is my kidnapping, which means I’m in charge and I ask the questions.”

Twisting her in his arms, he perused her.

She stared right back.

He fluttered sinfully long, dark lashes at her, which only served to give the paint clumping his lashes a chance to cling together. He squinted at her, and she bit her lip as she tried to hide her mirth and failed. She burst out laughing.

“This is not funny.” Spat out through gritted teeth.

“Yeah it is. I mean, you should see yourself.”

He scowled. “You did this to me, and I still don’t know why. Why waste time with this pathetic excuse for a kidnapping? Is this some practical joke?”

“No joke.” Not even close. “I told you. I need answers from you.”

“So instead of asking me”—he waved a hand around the room—“you came up with this brilliant plan.” He didn’t bother to hide his mocking.

“I had to improvise.” Had to because she’d not expected the level of attraction and confusion she’d encountered when she met him. Not expected the certainty that came from her gut, a gut that she trusted, claiming he was innocent. Yet, how could she believe he was not to blame when she’d not asked him a single thing?

And did I neglect to ask because I didn’t want the answer?

Or didn’t ask because she knew he wasn’t the nefarious person she’d feared? And, no, she didn’t fear. Hence why she’d gone through with her crazy plan, a plan doomed to failure because Daryl was right. She sucked at the whole kidnapping and intimidation shtick.
How did I ever think this would work?

The problem of living mostly among humans and not shifters? Underestimating what they could do.

“Honey, you really screwed up.”

She had. Still caught in his grip, she tensed.
Did I misread him? Is this where he turns into a raving lunatic and kills me?
She wouldn’t die without a fight. Now, if only she knew how to protect herself. Her mother said ladies fought their battles with words, and when that didn’t work, Daddy stepped in.

Unfortunately, words seemed to be getting her in more trouble and Daddy wasn’t here to save her.
Uh-oh.
Her breathing shortened as the extent of her error was made clear.

A frown creased his brow. “Are you seriously scared of me?” He set her away from him and crossed his arms. It did nothing to lessen his intimidation factor.

But Daddy did it better, and her mom had taught her that it wasn’t size or strength that counted, but attitude. While Cynthia found herself still a touch scared, his attitude did somewhat reassure, and some of her confidence was restored.

She snorted “Scared, of you? Ha. You wish. More like cautious. Never know what you crazy feline types might do.”

“Do?” Daryl arched a brow with clear incredulity. “Isn’t that the whole pot calling a kettle something? I mean, let’s take stock here. You committed at least three major crimes, maybe more, to talk to me, so I have to wonder, what exactly is it you’re accusing me of being capable of?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t, so you’d better tell me.”

“Or you’ll what?” she challenged, which probably wasn’t the brightest thing she could have done, but her inner wolf still insisted they had nothing to fear.

Good kitty.

Which totally went against what she thought.
He’s a bad kitty. Sexy kitty.
Trying-to-suck-her-under-his-spell-again kitty.

A sensual smile tugged his lips. “If you don’t start telling me what this is about, I am going to put you over my knee and warm that sweet ass of yours with the palm of my hand. Naked.”

She sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” And then, as if to addle her further, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a torso thick with muscle, but also showing a few scars. Round ones.

Had someone shot him?

It should have made him seem scary—her mother warned her away from bad boys who ran with people who owned guns—but as he mopped his face with his shirt, wiping the paint clear, she couldn’t help but stare at him, riveted.

The man proved more of a temptation than expensive Godiva chocolate. It made a girl want to clamp her lips tight and not give him what he wanted, so she could get what her body craved. Him touching her.

Sweet heaven. How good would that feel? But this so wasn’t the right time and place. She just wished she didn’t have to keep reminding herself.

Think of Aria.
Aria was the reason Cynthia was doing this. Thoughts of Aria centered her.

“I’m looking for my friend.”

He arched a brow. “And? That’s not telling me much. What friend? Why? What makes you think I know them?”

“You know her.”

“If you’re that certain, then why not just ask me? Why go through with this?” He swept a hand at the chair and its flopping strands of tape. “Come on, honey. You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

Why did those words sound so dirty when he said them?

“I’m looking for Aria.”

Blank look.

“You know her. Petite”—Cynthia held up a hand to about her chin—“skinny girl. Short brown hair. Nice smile.”

The more she spoke, the harder Daryl shook his head until he interrupted her with, “Honey, you’re going to have to do better than that. I don’t know any Aria. And you’ve described any number of girls I know. Why are you looking for her anyhow? Why can’t you just call her? You’re not planning to kidnap her, too, are you? Am I your practice run?”

The questions he tossed her way in rapid succession almost crossed her eyes. This wasn’t going how it was supposed to.

Oops, I think I said that out loud.

“And how did you expect this to go?” Daryl flopped onto her bed and tucked his hands behind his head. She stared at him.

The devil smiled.

She wished she had her gun so she could shoot him in the crotch.

“I expected you to wake up properly frightened. Because you were my prisoner and I had a gun,” she stated, still miffed he’d not taken her kidnapping and intimidation seriously.

“You had a gun with a red tip.”

“And? What’s the matter with that? It makes it easier for you to see that the barrel is pointed at you. You should have been scared.”

He snickered. “I guess no one ever told you that a red tip means it’s not a real gun.”

Way to suck all the wind out of her sails. Her jaw snapped as she clamped her lips. No, she’d not known about the red-tip thing. Cynthia knew very little about guns in general, other than pulling the trigger seemed to work.

Which begged the question, how did she procure the gun in her trunk? Simple, she’d confiscated the toy from some boys who thought it was funny to shoot the squirrels in the park. She taught them otherwise with a harangue that would have reduced her mother to proud tears. “So you knew all along you weren’t in danger?”

“Anyone using rubber duckie duct tape isn’t someone to fear.”

She couldn’t help an annoyed mutter. “I knew I should have used the skull head one.” But she was saving that particular roll for Halloween.

“I still don’t get all the drama. Wouldn’t it have been easier to ask me at the bar if I’d seen your friend?”

She squirmed. “Probably. But I kind of suffer from a syndrome. I get it from my mother.”

“And what syndrome is that?”

“Acting without thinking. Usually on account I’m panicking.”

“Do you always kidnap people and threaten them with death by rainbow paint when stressed?”

“You’re my first.”

“And last.”

Was it her, or did those words emerge a little growly? “So did you see her?”

“I can’t answer that if I don’t know who this Aria girl is. Don’t you have a picture? Something?”

As a matter of fact, she did. The last image Aria synced from her phone to her social media profile. Cynthia located it in the gallery on her phone and loaded it.

As she showed Daryl, she saw his expression turn from curiosity to surprise. “That’s your friend?”

“Yes, that’s Aria. She’s missing, and according to this picture, you were the last person to see her alive.”