Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (5 page)

It happened every so often that a person morphed into their animal and didn’t come back. Ever. Those shifters were called wildlings. A cute name to describe a horrible state that meant the animal took over and the human part of the mind was trapped. It mostly happened among the emotionally wounded. But had Wes’s brother, Brandon, gone wild, or had something more nefarious happened? Something related to that dinoman and furball?

When his buddies left, promising to catch up again in the morning, Daryl locked the door and turned to Cyn.

“We should go to bed.” Daryl let his lips quirk as he said it.

Cyn backed away from him. “No thanks. I’m wide awake. We should start looking.”

Shaking his head, he shot down her idea. “It’s after one in the morning.”

Her brows shot high. “How is that possible? Those monsters attacked us at like four a.m.”

“They did, and then you napped the day away. We both did.” He locked all the doors and finally collapsed. “At this point, dawn is only a few hours away. Businesses we need to visit are closed. Exactly where will you look?”

Now some women might have proven stubborn at this point and continued to refute simple logic. Man logic. The right kind of logic.

A logic she grasped?

“You’re right.” She smiled and stretched, back arching, breasts thrusting forward. “We should go to bed.” She turned and presented that sweet booty of hers. An ass a man could totally sink his teeth into.

And he would. He caught up to her and reached to grab Cyn, except she scooted out of the way.

“What do you think you’re doing, kitty-cat?” She tossed him a look over her shoulder.

“Kitty-cat? That’s not exactly a very masculine name. Couldn’t we go with something else?”

“Prefer Casanova, do you?”

He froze and frowned. “No.”

“I like Kitty-cat. It’s cute.”

Usually, being called cute would work for him, but he got the impression she didn’t mean it in the most complimentary way. Why would she insult him? The realization made him smile. “I see the game you’re playing.” Hard to get.

“Good.” She turned, framed in the doorway to the bedroom. “We can play some more in the morning. Night.”

When she would have shut the door—with him on the outside!—he interjected his foot. “What are you doing?”

She peeked through the crack, eyes dancing with mirth, lips a sensual smile of teasing. “I am going to bed. In your bed. Alone. Wearing this.” She dangled a T-shirt—“Poke me and die.” Surely she didn’t mean it.

She kicked his foot and wedged the door shut. Locked it.

Then…giggled.

Oh, it was on.

B
linking open heavy lids
, the first thing Cynthia noted was the dark eyes above hers, staring intently. Then, the familiar smirk.

Too late, she’d already let loose a shriek.

“Nice to see you, too, honeybuns.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I am not a donut.”

“Honeybuns aren’t either, but you’re both sweet.”

The cheesy line made her groan, and she closed her eyes, only to snap them open as she exclaimed, “How did you get in here? I distinctly remember locking the door.”

Disgust creased his features. “I learned to bypass those simple bedroom locks by the time I was in grade three. All you need is a butter knife.”

If it was so simple, then why had he waited so long to enter?

Such a bad thought. She should be happy he’d not pushed the issue and insisted on joining her in bed. She’d have set him straight at the first amorous attempt.

Snicker. It wasn’t just her wolf that mocked her.

A part of her had hoped he’d not let a locked door stand in his way the previous night. Hoped he’d slide into bed with her and…

“What are you doing?” she asked as he yanked the covers back. Clutching at the blanket to keep herself covered, she gave him the eye.

An expression he took as invitation, given he put a leg on the mattress with a muttered, “Move your sweet ass over.”

Does he really think he’s joining me in bed?

Forget thinking. He was, probably because she scooched over. The mattress dipped under his weight as he stretched out. Given he possessed quite a few pounds of thick, tanned flesh, encased in a lickable body, she found herself smooshed against him. She could think of worse places to be.

Or we could stay like this for a while.
She could try and deny her attraction to Daryl all she wanted. Denial didn’t make it true. She found him highly intriguing, sexy, and, let her not forget, arousing because, when he tried to kiss her, she melted like a piece of chocolate in the sun.

Lick me, head to toe.

Oh dear. Not exactly the right kind of thought to have when pressed against the object of her lust. He was a feline. Chances were he could smell it.

It might have proven more embarrassing if he was not sporting a huge boner, and, no, she didn’t see it. She accidentally felt it.

With hot cheeks, she moved her hand away and wondered if he thought she’d groped him on purpose.

No wonder he’s confused.
She was sending out very mixed signals. Heck, she wasn’t even sure what she felt herself.

“What time is it?” she asked. An innocuous question, something to focus on instead of how nice it felt when he placed his arm across her pillow and nudged her head onto it.

This was nice.

Must resist.

But how could she? The man was freaking cuddling! She’d never felt so blissfully relaxed and content.

And then he had to be a guy.

“I think it’s time my luscious Cyn peeled the clothes from her body.” Daryl ran a hand down the side of her body, tickling across her ribs. He left a trail of awareness in his wake and then had her holding her breath as he reached the hem of the shirt she’d borrowed. Fingers with callused tips brushed the tops of her bare thighs. Where would they go next?

“You want me to strip?” she muttered, her voice low and husky.

“Totally.” The full width of his hand palmed her leg, branding her. “Then I want you to stretch that gorgeous body. I want you awake and ready because…” His lips brushed her forehead. She shivered. “You need to take a shower, honey. You reek of dog and lizard. Like badly. So badly, in fact, I’m going to have to wash these sheets.”

With that, he rolled off the bed so quickly she couldn’t help but fall face-first onto the mattress—where she stayed, utterly mortified.

Rejected because I stink.
Her wolf whined with her head tucked between paws.

Good thing one of them was feisty and wouldn’t stand for it.

Oh heck no. He’ll pay for that comment
, she thought as she pushed herself onto her elbows. The fact that he was right didn’t enter the equation. No man should ever tell a woman she needed to bathe.

And probably brush her hair, she gauged by the ginger pat of her hand on out-of-control hair. Her carefully brushed and sprayed curly do was a tad in disarray. Okay, a fuzz ball atop her head. But there were chemicals for that…which she didn’t have. Rats.

“Do you have any kind of oil? Moroccan oil is best, but cooking will do as well.”

He might have been talking before she interrupted, but he certainly wasn’t now. Now he gaped at her with his jaw dropped. Such a cute jaw, too, with that little goatee thing he had going, the short kind that covered just the bottom, front edge of his face with a little line bisecting up to his lower lip. So sexy.

Want-to-kiss-it sexy.

“What do you need oil for?”

“Taming my curls.”

For a second, he froze. He might have let out some kind of sad meow sound before he turned enough to see her. He stared. She stared right back, but her gaze did narrow when he burst out laughing. “You’re talking about the hair on your head.”

“Of course I am. What other curls did you think I was talking about?” At his arched brow, she got it and blushed. “That’s gross. Why would I grease myself down there?”

He snickered. “Should I really answer that?”

The heat in her cheeks went up a few more degrees. “Can we stop talking about the situation down below?”

“I’d rather not. This is one of the best morning conversations I’ve ever had. So, do you shave?”

She pushed herself up on elbow and gaped at him. “You did not seriously just ask that?”

“Why not? Can’t a man be interested in the trimming?”

“No, because it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it’s my business all right,” he practically purred. “I’m making it my business. But on second thought, don’t tell me how you garden. I am going to totally enjoy finding out myself when I pay a visit down there. With my lips.”

She sucked in a breath and wanted to hold her tongue, but how could she when his words ignited her? A part of her hoped he meant it—
I want his lips to touch me
—and yet, she couldn’t help but deny it. Or should she say dare him? “There will be no lips placed on my body, especially not down there.”

He rolled his eyes and gave her a mocking grin. “Well duh. You need to shower and brush your teeth first.”

Oh, he did not just do that. Again. “You think I stink?”

She thought he stank. Actually more like he tortured. What was the female equivalent of blue balls? Because she might have it. Parts of her certainly wouldn’t stop tingling and, even at times, throbbing. He was to blame. Him and all his sexy parts.

And what did he want from her? One moment, he was seducing her with words and touches, and the next, he practically, on purpose, pushed her away.

Pushed. Her. Away.

Was he as freaked out by their mutual attraction? Did he perhaps suffer the same doubts?

Was it possible to torture him back?

Let’s find out.

The plan formed in less than a second, which meant it would be a good one, one that moved so fast she didn’t even know what was happening until she stood there naked.

In the blink of an eye, she’d jumped from the bed and pulled off the shirt. His shirt. The scent of him surrounded her, even marked her skin. The loss of clothing should have given her a chill, yet who could feel cold when bathed in the heat coming from Daryl’s watching eyes?

Let’s see just how uninterested you are, darlin’.

She looked down at her breasts. She’d not worn a bra to bed. Sleeping unfettered was so much better, and her breasts were happy to show the love by having her nipples harden into points. Naughty suckers.

Mmm. Lips. Pulling and tugging.

Must not get distracted,
even if he was. Poor Daryl. He stared without so much as blinking. His body stood poised, rigid with attention. That wasn’t the only rigid thing about him.

He wants me.

It was heady knowledge. It brought out the imp in her. Since he admired her plump handfuls, she cupped them. “I see you’re admiring these. Nice, aren’t they? And real, too.” She squeezed. He might have made a noise. “I’d let you touch, but you know”—she lowered her voice and leaned closer—“I’m such a dirty, dirty girl.”

Yeah, he definitely made a pained sound that time.

She held in her smirk until she’d made it past him out of the bedroom into the main living area. From there, she noted an open doorway through which she could see tile.

Before she’d made it over the sill, she squeaked.

The slap on her ass was sharp. Crisp. Titillating and frustrating, seeing as how Daryl didn’t follow through. “Don’t forget to use lots of soap, Cyn. And by the way, I like the way you tend your garden. I’ll be by for a picnic later.”

Later? There wouldn’t be a later if she killed him because, seriously, the man was begging for a maiming—or mauling, naked.

It was cat versus dog, and for every minor victory she claimed over him, he stole one right back from her.

It should have annulled her attraction for him. Ha. Everything served to make him only more appealing. So why resist? Why say no?

Because he keeps teasing and not putting out.

Then again, so was she.

A conundrum she’d solve after she made herself smell pretty.

Then see if you can resist me, darlin’
.

The shower proved refreshing, his razor sharp enough. His shampoo was some kind of inexpensive two-in-one that did little to help her hair. While the towels in the cupboard over the toilet proved clean, they held the unmistakable scent of him.

Throw it on the ground, and we’ll roll in it.

Her sometimes-timid wolf didn’t have a problem insisting. Cynthia settled for wrapping the terry fabric around her body, sarong style.

Wiping her arm across the misted mirror, she grimaced at her hazy face.
I look the same.

A round face, her cheeks often called apples, and big lips that could use a dab of pink moisturizing balm. Her eyes seemed bright, perhaps more than usual. Her hair…yeah, she wouldn’t talk about the hair.

She looked fine. Given what had happened, she might have expected to see some sign of her ordeal. Dark shadows under her eyes. A haunted look in her gaze. A hickey on her neck.

Okay, that was wishful thinking, and she could just hear her mother if she went home sporting one.
“Branding should be done in discreet places. But in case it happens, wear a scarf.”

Please tell me Mother has a drawer full because she loves wearing them.
Any other reason didn’t bear thinking of.

Needing distraction from the fact that her parents might have, indeed, once in their lives, done something traumatizing in order to beget their only child, she dug around Daryl’s vanity looking for some basics. The deodorant she found in the drawer, when sniffed, did not prove powdery fresh, but at least it gave her something to scent her skin.

Something that touched his.

She really enjoyed the application of the stuff a little too much and shoved it back in the drawer. Another drawer revealed a few toothbrushes in wrappers. She grabbed one and brushed her teeth, trying not to think of the fact that he had so many because he was a player.

Not my problem or business. He can be whatever he likes. He’s not my boyfriend.

No, he was worse than that. The more time she spent with him, the more she wondered if he was her mate.

The shifter population was torn on the whole fated-mate concept. Depending on who a person spoke to, some were convinced all shifters had one perfect mate somewhere for them. Some claimed you knew the moment you met. The shock was like no other.

But then again, others scoffed at the idea of it. Mate at first sight? Never—simply animal attraction.

Cynthia often wondered if those who didn’t believe had just never encountered it themselves.

Which begged the question, what did she think?

Do I essentially believe in love at first sight? At fate drawing together two people who were meant to be together?

Or was it simply lust, and one compounded by her anxiety over her friend?

She wished for a clear answer.

Instead, she caught another glimpse of her hair.

That was at least something she could fix. She sleeked it back as best she could, and then, when she couldn’t find an elastic of some sort, she ripped a facecloth until she had a few strips, which she wove together to make a tieback. It would prevent a full-on pouf.

Since she’d entered naked, she had nothing to change into, not that she would have donned any of her dirty clothes. She had to rely on her towel to cover her.

Or strut by Daryl in the buff and see what happens now that I’m clean.

Less is sometimes better.
Something her mother always said.

She ensured the towel covered all her parts—parts he’d seen, but that didn’t matter. It was all about presentation. She emerged from the bathroom, the aircraft carrier roar of the fan following her, only to squeak, “There’s people here!”

Indeed, Daryl had an apartment full, one of which was the big fellow they’d met the night before, who held tucked under his arm like a precious football a small dog, which she recognized as a long-haired Chihuahua with a pink bow in her hair. Pet or snack?

Beside the dog-toting guy, there was that big gator dude she also recalled. He didn’t have a pet in his arms, but he did bring a smirk.

She replied with a frown as she quickly took in the rest of the strangers—a blonde-haired woman, a little boy, and another big guy with a scar on his face.

“There you are, Cyn.” Daryl, leaning against the breakfast bar to his kitchen, smiled at her. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to rescue you from drowning. I’m always ready to practice my mouth-to-mouth.”