Michel/Striker
BAYOU HEAT 15-16
By
Alexandra Ivy
and
Laura Wright
Copyright ©2015 by Alexandra Ivy and Laura Wright
Editor: Julia Ganis, JuliaEdits.com
Cover Art by Patricia Schmitt (Pickyme)
Formatting by Sweet 'N Spicy Designs
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
ISBN: (9780986163135)
Michel
by
Alexandra Ivy
CHAPTER 1
Winter was no more than a crisp edge in the breeze that threaded its way through the Wildlands. Michel sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air, savoring the tingle of magic that flowed through his veins.
He loved this secret homeland of the Pantera. It was a place of beauty, power, and untamed dangers that lurked in the thick shadows. Not even the dozen new houses that were being constructed for the victims who’d been rescued from Locke’s dungeons of horror could mar the lush wetlands that were filled with a vibrant green.
This morning, however, his attention wasn’t on the cypress trees that dotted the thick bayous, or the nearby cubs who playfully wrestled on a patch of grass. Instead he watched the slender female who was perched on a fallen log, monitoring the playful cubs and occasionally making scratches on a clipboard she had balanced on her knees.
She was a striking beauty with her long curly red hair that blazed in the sunlight with a rich gold threaded through the strands. Her eyes were a pale green and her skin was soft and satiny, except for the scars that ran from her mid-cheek down to her throat.
The first time he’d seen her, he’d noticed the burn marks she tried to hide with her hair, but he’d instantly dismissed them. Instead, it was the rest of her satin skin that had captured and held his attention. A perfect cream that made his cat long to lick it until it was rosy with passion.
His intense arousal had set off all sorts of alarms in the back of his mind. Not to mention pissed him off.
This female had worked with Locke, kidnapping and torturing his people, along with innocent humans. And for all he knew, she was still working for the bastard.
It was obscene that his cat would instantly fall in lust with her.
And even more obscene he’d been unable to take another female to his bed since she’d arrived in the Wildlands nearly a month before.
He swallowed a growl as he sensed the approach of his leader.
Like him, Raphael was a Suit, but the two males couldn’t be more different. Raphael was tall, with a golden beauty and easy charm that made him the perfect Diplomat. Michel, on the other hand, was three inches shorter with broad shoulders and muscles that bulged beneath the New Orleans Saints sweatshirt and faded jeans he was wearing. His dark hair was skull-shaved and his eyes a dark green rimmed with black. His skin was naturally a deep copper tone, with a tattoo of a crouching puma inked on his chest.
He was also more aggressive than most Suits, which was why his brothers had been shocked when Raphael had made him a spy. But while Michel might not have a golden tongue, or the ability to mix among the humans, he could scale a building, disable the surveillance, and take out a dozen guards without breaking a sweat. Hell, he’d broken into the Oval Office just to prove he could.
“Should I ask why you spend so much time watching Dr. Young?” Raphael demanded, folding his arms over his chest as he studied Michel’s tight expression.
“I would think that was obvious,” he muttered.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Raphael drawled. “She’s lovely.”
A strange sensation tightened around Michel’s chest, his gaze never wavering from the female. She wasn’t lovely.
She was stunning.
It wasn’t just the delicate features or the fiery hair. It was the intense intelligence that shimmered in her green eyes and the grim resolution etched on her face.
This female was a survivor.
His cat was dangerously fascinated. Thankfully, his brain was connected to his human side. Which meant he wasn’t going to be blinded by a pretty face and perfect tits.
“I don’t trust her,” he said, his voice hard as he watched her lean forward and lightly run a finger down the nearest cub’s back.
Over the past two weeks she’d requested the opportunity to do non-invasive research on the children who had been created in Locke’s laboratories. She’d promised that she only wanted to make sure that they were healthy and growing at a steady rate.
“Have you forgotten that she has given us information on our enemy that we would never have discovered without her?” Raphael demanded. “And that her skills have helped us heal our people?”
Michel turned his head to meet Raphael’s determinedly bland expression. Were his lips twitching?
Did the annoying shit think Michel’s obsession with the female was funny?
“She’s shared just enough to earn a place in the Wildlands,” Michel snapped. “For all we know she’s a very clever spy who’s trying to lull us into complacency while she gathers intel to send to our enemies.”
“So cynical,” Raphael murmured.
“Because it’s what I would do,” Michel said between clenched teeth.
“True.”
Michel made a sound of frustration. He didn’t understand why everyone else was so eager to forgive and forget when it came to Dr. Chelsea Young.
She was the enemy.
No matter what his cat might be trying to tell him.
“Besides, she’s had Pantera blood. She’s admitted that she’s developed heightened senses and she’s stronger than she was before her injections,” he pressed. “And there’s that little matter of her claim that she can ‘sense’ the Pantera. And even humans from a great distance.”
Raphael shrugged, not nearly as concerned as he should be. “I know, which is why I have her under constant surveillance.”
He nodded toward a large Hunter with short, tousled dark hair and eyes that were a vivid violet flecked with gold.
Far from comforted, Michel growled deep in his throat.
The young male had been lurking around Chelsea for weeks, his handsome features and easy charm easily working their magic on Dr. Young. Usually Michel found Rage’s ability to ensnare the opposite sex a source of amusement.
Now there was nothing funny about it.
Not one fucking thing.
“Rage is a talented Hunter, but he doesn’t understand the complex games that spies play,” Michel pointed out the obvious. “Not too mention he’s a perpetual flirt.”
Raphael cocked a brow. “Does that bother you?”
Michel refused to be goaded. He’d already revealed more than he wanted. “It leaves him open to manipulation.”
“Ah.” There was a hesitation before Raphael cleared his throat. “You know, Michel, I assumed you of all people would be sympathetic to Chelsea.”
His brows snapped together. “Why would I have sympathy for a woman who used our people as science experiments?”
“Because you know what it’s like to be different while you’re growing up, and the desperation to fit in.”
Michel’s breath caught in his throat, his cat crouching inside him as a remembered pain made him flinch. He rarely allowed himself to recall his early childhood
when he’d been born with deformed legs. The twisted joints had been beyond the efforts of the Healers, and it hadn’t been until human technology had evolved far enough to operate on him that he’d at last been able to walk.
Yes. He understood the dark desperation of being flawed. And the fierce need to do whatever to gain command of your life. And why Chelsea’s eyes remained shadowed even when she smiled…
“It’s not at all the same,” he abruptly denied.
“No?”
His fists clenched. “I didn’t sacrifice others for my cure.”
Raphael gave a dip of his head. “Fair enough.”
Michel turned so he was facing his companion. “When are you going to confess what’s going on, Raphael?”
The older male shrugged. “What makes you think something is going on?”
Michel gave a short laugh. “I can sense when you’re tap-dancing around because you have a piece of shit duty you’re about to dump on me.”
“Okay.” Raphael grinned. “I need you.”
“About damned time,” Michel breathed. As much as he loved the Wildlands, he needed to get away and clear his head.
Plus he needed to be doing something. Anything.
“You might not be so eager when I explain your mission,” Raphael warned.
Michel gave a lift of his shoulders. “Anything is better than sitting on my ass waiting for—” He bit off his words, narrowing his gaze. “Wait. You don’t want me to babysit, do you?”
“Christ, you should be so lucky,” Raphael muttered. “I have an endless mob of females in front of my house just waiting to catch a glimpse of my precious daughter.” He shook his head, not quite capable of disguising his bone-deep pride. “I barely get to hold her unless I steal her from her crib and sneak out of the house.”
“Then what do you want?”
Raphael folded his arms over his chest. “Dr. Young gave us six locations where Stanton Locke might potentially be hiding.”
Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.
“You want me to check them out?”
“Actually I’ve had the adolescent Hunters following up the leads.” Raphael grimaced. “They need the practice and they’ve been itching with the need to do something.”
Michel was plagued with the same itch.
Feeling as if he’d been leashed was no doubt a part of the reason he’d become so…consumed with thoughts of Dr. Chelsea Young.
“And?” he asked.
“And I just got a call from Jazz in Bossier City,” Raphael said, referring to one of the adolescent Hunters who’d shown great promise. “She’s heard rumors that a prominent military contractor recently arrived at Barksdale Air Force Base and set up a secret lab in the abandoned bunkers.”
A sick ball of dread lodged in the pit of Michel’s gut. Christ. He didn’t want to consider the possibility that the human military was somehow involved. It was going to be hard enough to hunt down Locke and stop him without adding in…
No. He gave a sharp shake of his head. He wasn’t even going to go there.
Not until they could be sure what was going on.
“What makes her think it has something to do with Locke?” he demanded.
“She thought she caught sight of Locke headed into the base, but lost him in the wetlands that surround the bunkers.”
Michel curled his hands into tight fists. Inside, his cat roared with the need to taste blood.
He was going to stop that bastard. One way or another.
“I’ll find him,” he swore.
Raphael held up a warning hand. “First I want you to discover what his plan is and who’s involved.”
Michel didn’t hesitate. “No problem.”
Raphael gave a sharp laugh. “Whatever you lack, Michel, it isn’t confidence.”
Michel shrugged. He was the best at what he did. False modesty was as ugly as boasting. “You ask, and I deliver.”
“True.” Raphael paused, a worrisome smile playing around his lips. “But on this occasion you won’t have to do it alone.”
“A partner?” Michel scowled. What the hell was Raphael thinking? He always worked alone. “That’s not really my style.”
“It is this time.”
Michel stilled, a chill inching down his spine. Something was up. Something he wasn’t going to like.
“Who’s the lucky Hunter?”
“Not a Hunter.”
Michel narrowed his gaze. “A Suit?”
“An expert on Locke.”
“Who?” He sucked in a shocked breath as he realized just what his companion was implying. He’d suspected he wasn’t going to like what Raphael had to say, but this… “No.”
“No?” Raphael’s voice was dangerously soft, but Michel was too angry to care.
“You want me to rephrase it?” he snarled. “Hell, no.”
Raphael squared his shoulders, his power lashing out like a punch to the gut. Suddenly he was every inch the leader of the Suits.
One badass mofo.
“When I give an order, Michel, it’s not up for debate,” he stated in tones that defied argument.
He was right.
It was Michel’s duty to obey.
Michel glanced toward the sky, a bizarre exhilaration flaring through his body. “Shit.”
***
Dr. Chelsea Young was well aware of the two males standing across the small clearing who’d been watching her with the eyes of hungry predators.
She’d have to be dead not to feel the smoldering heat of their gazes. Plus, the injections of Pantera blood she’d given herself over the past six years had heightened her senses to the point she could feel the prickling power of their inner cats.
Of course she was accustomed to Michel’s unwavering attention. It didn’t matter where she was, or what she was doing. He was always lurking in the background, studying her with a blatant suspicion. She did her best to ignore him. After all, Rage was constantly watching her and she barely noticed him when she was working. But Michel…he disturbed her in a way she couldn’t explain.
Maybe it was guilt. God knew she had enough of that to drown in.
Or maybe it was awareness. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to his raw, male beauty?
She tensed, acutely aware the two males were moving forward.
Damn.
Hastily she set aside her clipboard and rose to her feet. At the same time she covertly studied the two shifters.
Raphael was the more traditionally handsome, but it was Michel who captivated her attention. His features were chiseled to austere lines that were emphasized by his shaven skull. His eyes were the color of bayou moss, and rimmed with black. They could shimmer with a rare humor, or darken with a lethal fury. His skin was the same coppery shade as his cat when he shifted and his body was layered with slabs of muscles that moved with fluid ease.
Not that she’d been staring. Or ogling. Or sneaking peeks like a creeper.
She swallowed a sigh. Gah. There was clearly something wrong with her.
First she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a psychopath who’d eventually held her prisoner. And now she was fascinated by a male who made it painfully clear he wanted her far away from the Wildlands.
Yep. For all her scientific brilliance, she was clearly damaged in the head.
With an effort, she kept her expression one of polite interest as she forced herself to focus on the leader of the Suits.
“Raphael,” she said, deliberately ignoring the male who scowled at his side.
“Good morning, Chelsea,” Raphael murmured.
A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Despite the chill in the breeze, the Wildlands managed to feel warm and muggy. She told herself it was heat trapped in the thick foliage and the dappled sunlight that fell across her shoulders. Or even the fabric of the loose scrubs she insisted on wearing instead of the pretty sundresses that had been offered to her by the female Pantera.
It couldn’t be because she was excited that M
ichel was standing close enough she could feel his delicious heat wrapping around her.
Because that would be…
Pathetic.
She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the male musk that saturated the air. “Is there a problem?” she demanded of Raphael.
“I have need of your expertise,” the older male murmured.
“Of course,” she eagerly agreed. She’d been waiting for an opportunity to go over the studies she’d done on her patients before leaving Benson Enterprises. “I’ve promised I would do whatever possible to help. Let me get my research notes and—”
“They won’t be necessary,” Raphael interrupted.
“I don’t understand,” she said, unconsciously lifting her hand to chew her thumbnail. It was a nervous habit she’d developed after the fire and one she found impossible to break. By the time she went to bed at night, her thumb would be bleeding.
“On this occasion it’s your connection to Stanton Locke that can help us.”
A sick sense of fear washed through her. Any love she might have felt for Locke was long gone, but she still dreaded the day they came to tell her he was about to be punished for his sins.
“You’ve captured him?”
Raphael gave a shake of his head. “Not yet, but we believe he’s in Bossier City.”
She nodded. That was one of the places she’d told them to look for her previous employer.
“I’ve given you a map to his lab there,” she pointed out.
Raphael nodded. “Jazz found the lab and followed a male she believes to be Locke onto the nearby air base.”
Okay, she’d done her part. Right?
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to travel to Bossier City and search through whatever research files we can manage to steal from his lab,” Raphael explained. “You’ll know what we need to bring back to the Wildlands and what should be turned over to the human authorities.”
Ah. That made sense. She gave a nod. “Very well.”
“I also want you to discover what his connection is to the human military.”
Chelsea hissed in horror. She’d desperately hoped Locke would refuse to give in to Christopher’s greed. It was, after all, one thing to use the Pantera blood to try and create a miracle drug that would heal the sick. It was another to use the research to prolong the lives of the rich, or to increase the strength and endurance of soldiers.
Michel/Striker Page 1
