She’d given up her ruin hunting for this? A moody cat-god who couldn’t even be civil? She added “sulker” to the long list of things she didn’t want in a lover, and drove on.
***
“We should probably stop for the night.” It was the first thing he had said since that morning. Or, more accurately, since their kiss the night before. Wait, no, Meg realized snidely. He’d said other things. He’d said, to be specific, “fine.” He’d said that a lot.
She glanced at him, her own temper simmering. “Sure.” She kept her tone neutral and yanked the wheel to the left. Her earlier musings on pain never being funny had given way to frustration and resentment, and the angry part of her relished the way the car jerked.
Santiago winced. Then his full lips thinned to a white line, and he pulled himself from the Jeep.
They set up a small camp and made dinner in silence filled by jungle calls. Shadows deepened as they ate, encroaching on the little light cast by their fire.
She stared into the flames, glaring harder when she felt his eyes on her and remembered his caution about night blindness the first evening. Screw him and his night blindness warnings.
The movement of skin against cloth prompted her imagination, and suddenly she could see him, still brooding. The mental image added fuel to her fire, and she spoke before thinking. “You’re a grown man.” She shot a glare toward where he sat. “Stop sulking!”
“Sulking?” Santiago’s voice cracked in the darkness. “I’m not sulking.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. You’ve been sulking since we kissed. And I know I’m not a bad kisser, so it isn’t that I didn’t live up to expectations.”
“No,” he said, rich voice a sarcastic purr. “You lived up to every expectation I’ve learned, thank you.”
That stopped her. She thought back, trying to figure out if she should know what he was referencing. She finally decided that, no, he was still just being an ass. “If you’re going to make snide comments, you should at least make sure I know what the hell you’re talking about.” And to think she’d been falling for him the night before!
Again, she heard the sound of movement, the blanket rustling. Then a shape formed out of the gloom, tanned skin picking up licks of firelight. His eyes were black in the shadows. “Women,” he said with disgust. “You’re all the same. It doesn’t matter what you say or imply or do, you don’t really mean it.”
She was flabbergasted.
He continued, “You could at least refrain from kissing back, if you find me that appalling.”
He wasn’t making any sense. She looked at him like he’d grown fangs. Which, granted, wasn’t impossible, but he hadn’t. “You have lost your ever lovin’ mind,” she said in English, then added in Spanish, “What are you talking about?”
“You! This—this disgustingly human tendency to idolize anything abnormal, and then fear it when it proves to be true!”
“Now I fear you?” she asked skeptically. “You’re kidding, right? I fear you, so I kissed you?”
“I disturb you, so you overreacted when I kissed you. A simple refusal would have more than sufficed.” The sneer in his voice didn’t quite cover the hurt.
Confusion doused her anger. She blinked into the dark, able to make out parts of his face as the firelight danced over him. “What are you talking about?”
“‘Hell,’” he quoted through gritted teeth. “I wasn’t going to bite you.”
Meg stopped the “too bad” remark before it left her mouth. “Of course not,” she said instead, still baffled.
The fire crackled in the following silence.
“Wait—” she began, stopped, and considered her words. “You thought I didn’t want to kiss you?”
Anger fell away, beaten back by uncertainty. “Well… Yes.”
She watched him, eyes becoming accustomed to the dark. Wariness chased hope chased caution across his strong features. “You’re this gorgeous Latin man,” she pointed out slowly. “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?”
“Because I’m a gorgeous Latin cat-man?” he suggested. “And…” he paused, then bulled forward as if mentally ticking off points, “…you’re not interested in bestiality? You don’t think it would be a good idea? You’re worried you might be allergic? It’s simply too much for you to handle? I might maul you? The thought is repul—”
Meg shook her head once, and he fell silent. “Are you serious?”
He didn’t answer, one hand holding his blanket around his waist, the other tense at his side.
“God. You are serious,” she muttered. When she spoke again, she enunciated. “I didn’t say ‘hell’ because I was disturbed. I said it because I’d been trying to be a good little girl and not jump you, and you were making it really damn hard.”
His features twisted through a parade of expressions. Relief won. “Oh.”
She smiled, rolling her eyes. “You’re an idiot. Sit down.”
He did so, settling in next to her.
Leaning back on her hands, she considered his profile. “Women don’t tend to like the whole cat thing, huh?”
He slanted her a wry look. “Not exactly. It…ends relationships.”
Meg winced, seeing the carefully hidden pain. “Well, I think I’m over it,” she drawled. “Now, maybe if you had turned into a jaguar and tried to kiss me, that would have freaked me out. But as long as you’re human… Hey.” She grinned and lifted a single shoulder in a half shrug.
“You are…” He hesitated, then chuckled. It chuffed through the air between them, warm and a little surprised. “Unusual.”
“I could have told you that. In fact, I’ve been hearing it most of my life. And you,” she bit off, “do you always jump to the worst conclusions?”
She could feel his gaze, even if she couldn’t see it. “Can I make it up to you?” he asked, voice low and warm.
She shivered at the near-purr, and fought the temptation to tease. She was just as tempted to climb into his lap. “Well, it depends.” Her eyes twinkled. “How did you plan on doing that?” It was easy to remember the laughter of the previous night, the camaraderie that had come so naturally.
“I could start by apologizing,” he suggested with a warm smile.
She gave that a great deal of mock-consideration. “Well, it’s a start,” she said dubiously.
A dark eyebrow arced upward. “What else would you suggest?”
Oh, she had all sorts of suggestions. She tried to keep them PG rated. “You could teach me that oyster song.” Okay, PG-13 rated.
Santiago laughed, and the last of the tension fell away from between them, absorbed into the jungle. “Is there anything else you’d take? That song is a trade secret, you know.”
Meg feigned a heartbroken sigh. “Well, I suppose I’d consider another kiss,” she said before she’d even thought about it. That kiss had started to be awfully nice…
Santiago’s smile was slow and sweet, just a little bit dangerous. “You’re sure it doesn’t bother you?”
“What doesn’t bother me?” she asked, then realized he was talking about the cat-thing again. “Hell no,” she said emphatically. “I think I’ll manage.” She inched closer, lifting a hand to run the backs of her fingers down his forearm. The thought that someone had hurt him—possibly several someones—made her heart pound with anger. Funny, she thought absently, watching firelight flicker over his skin. She’d never wanted to protect someone before. Especially not someone as physically able to protect themselves as Santiago.
Light spilled over his flesh as he moved, creating patterns and shadows where there were none. He edged closer until she could feel his body heat pressing up against her.
“I don’t even know you,” he said, sounding a little frustrated.
Meg snorted and closed the rest of the distance. “Don’t you know guys aren’t supposed to want to know someone? Guys are just supposed to have mindless sex all the time.”
He laughed, dark and quiet. “Of course. I
apologize. Whatever was I thinking?”
“And you’re still talking.” She ran her hand up the back of his neck, pulling him down toward her for a kiss. His lips were warm, soft without being feminine, his hair silky under her fingers. Then his arm rose, hand splaying across the small of her back, spreading heat and making rivulets of pleasure cascade down her spine. He moved her effortlessly, single arm tightening and pulling her closer until her hip pressed in against his. All thoughts of warm softness evaporated in that single tug, his carefully restrained power suddenly obvious in the ease with which he brought her near.
She squeaked at the initial pull, unused to someone strong enough to do as they pleased. Her hands tightened, one on his neck, the other on his good shoulder. A chuckle rumbled through his chest, and snuggled close against him she could feel as well as hear it. Heat spread throughout her body like lightning, skin electrified. Santiago’s nose skimmed against the sensitive skin under her earlobe. Meg’s breath broke. She tipped her head, giving him better access. His fingers brushed up and down over ribs and back, spreading easy, warm pleasure. She lifted her own hands, stroking along muscled arms, testing her nails over elastic flesh stretched taut across planes of muscle.
“You know,” she said, then stopped to kiss golden skin, nipping at his neck before tonguing the mark. He tasted like salt and musk and something she could only describe as masculine warmth. “I’ve never liked long hair on men before.”
“You’re suggesting I cut it?” Santiago asked, amusement in his voice.
“God, no.” She ran her hands across his collarbones, down the front of his chest, feeling him shiver when she caressed a perfectly muscled torso. “It makes you look a little wild.”
“You like wild,” he rumbled, the words not quite a question. She looked up and saw teeth, white and gold in the firelight, as he grinned.
“I love wild,” she admitted on a sigh. It had gotten her in more than a little trouble at times.
His voice dropped to a purr, the words felt as much as heard. “I’m good at wild.”
A shiver fled through her body. “I just bet.” Wherever he touched her felt hot, fire sizzling along her skin. And he seemed to touch her everywhere.
Then he stopped touching.
Meg wriggled. She nudged. Then she twisted around to peer up at him.
“Shh.” His eyes glowed with reflected firelight. He sat predator-still, focused on the jungle, and if he’d had pointed ears she would have expected them to be perked.
She checked his ears. They weren’t pointed.
Animals and bugs went on with life around them, undisturbed. She remained quiet for as long as she could. An eternity. Two eternities, even. It was probably at least ninety seconds. “What?” she whispered.
Santiago’s stillness broke, and he looked down at her with vague annoyance. “Which part of ‘shh’ didn’t translate?”
“Asshole,” Meg muttered in English. But he’d already stopped paying attention to her, focused once more on the wild surrounding them.
Then he moved, finally, rising to his feet and tangling their fingers. “Come,” he said, still staring elsewhere. “This way. Quietly.”
Even though she wanted to, Meg didn’t point out that she wasn’t exactly equipped to move quietly through a jungle. He’d figure it out soon enough.
He didn’t get the chance to figure it out. A man stumbled into their clearing, gun leveled, shouting in Spanish too rapidly for her to make out words. All she could see was the barrel of a rifle, gleaming in the firelight, slick with oil and weaving through the air. He shouted again, his face flushed.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty.
“Santiago,” Meg said quietly, then again, louder, “Santiago!” She didn’t know what she was going to tell him, or if she was going to tell him anything. His grip on her hand tightened and he began to tug her in another direction, then pulled her to a stop before she’d even taken a step.
Her head whipped around, a question on her lips. She froze.
Another man stood in the shadows of night and trees, waiting for them to move. When he spoke, it was slowly.
“We’ll be taking your car,” he said simply. “Your food, your—” He paused, smirking at Santiago’s near-nudity. “Your clothing, and any valuables.”
This wasn’t the eighteenth century, Meg thought, and there weren’t highway bandits anymore! Besides, highway bandits only happened in Europe, and this wasn’t even a highway! Santiago did fit the romanticized idea of a large, manly man, she supposed. If he did the romantic, old-world thing and tried to leap on the gunmen she was going to kill him herself.
“Take them,” Santiago said.
She stared at him. He wasn’t even going to argue?
In her peripheral vision, she saw two more men appear from the jungle, surrounding the small clearing. She edged closer to the bulk of the half-naked man beside her, as if he might be able to stop bullets. She was pretty sure that wasn’t part of the cat-god powers, though. They really should have camped farther from the road.
“And her,” the ringleader added.
Meg turned to stare at him. “Fuck you,” she said in English. Santiago’s grip on her hand tightened.
“No.” The cat-man spoke flatly.
Everything slowed. Or she sped up, she wasn’t certain. The ringleader raised his gun and Santiago twisted toward her. She had a moment to think, He looks heavy, before his body slammed into hers, carrying her to the ground. Shots rang out, explosively loud, cracking through the forest. Then Santiago was moving, off her, arm bones twisting, tendons writhing under his skin. Fur spread from his hand—no, paw, claws extended like serrated talons—up to his elbow. Only it wasn’t quite an elbow anymore, and he wasn’t quite a man. Not a cat, either. Something in between. Something terrifying and wrong, in an instinctive, visceral way that the sight of a twenty-year-old with a gun could never induce.
He roared, angry, the king of the jungle letting loose an inhuman call. People shouted, the bitter scent of fear mingling with the rot of the foliage. A gun fired, and then something caught in Meg’s shirt, lifting her up—up above the forest floor, up into the trees. Cloth tore, the seams catching under her arms and holding, her feet scrabbling for purchase. Muscles on the beast flexed and shifted, neither human nor cat, and his grip changed, holding her more securely before they flew out along a branch that bent and moved under their combined weight.
She finally screamed.
The cat leapt, caught the next branch with claws digging through moss, into bark, tail whipping madly for balance. Then they were lunging forward again, taking paths no human could, at speeds no animal should.
The sound of gunfire receded, replaced by the drum hammer of her heart ricocheting in her skull. She clung to skin or fur depending on the moment, biting back a cry when they fell, only to climb again a moment later. They sped through the jungle, panic lending power, and then the beast leapt onto a mammoth wall. He caught, two feet and one hand, the other claws tangled in her shirt. They hung for a long moment, a hundred feet above the ground, bark slowly shredding.
They were going to plummet. She knew it as surely as she knew her own reflection or that annoying mole on the bottom of her foot. He couldn’t climb holding onto her, and the only way was straight up or straight down. Meg twisted to stuff the toe of her boot into a knothole, giving herself just enough of a boost to loop her arm around Santiago’s shoulders. “Go!” she yelled, wrapping both legs around his waist.
His arm swung up. Hand shifted to paw, body twisting, sinew popping and rippling beneath her until a jaguar scaled the side of a tree. Claws splayed, his muscles bunched and shoved, gaining inches, tendons in his paws and forelegs straining.
Power coiled in his hips and back, releasing and springing them higher. They landed in a nest made by boughs branching outward from the trunk, the tree so large that there was more than enough space for them.
He changed before they hit, suddenly as human as he’d been
cat, now soaked with sweat.
Meg landed hard, scrambling to get her feet under her. A spreading branch stopped her dash, solid under her shaking hands. Her breathing smashed through her lungs. She couldn’t seem to calm down. Couldn’t quite breathe fast enough. Adrenaline made the nighttime colors sharper, clearer. The faint breeze against her face felt deliriously cool.
“Are you all right?” he rasped, breathless and concerned.
She glanced at him, dark hair plastered to his neck, black eyes scrutinizing her. “Those men—they were—” She couldn’t say, “going to kill us.” Instead, she said, “You’re—you just—” She couldn’t say, “changed to a jaguar and dragged me through the forest.” Instead, she said, “Naked.”
He glanced down as if to check for himself. When he looked back up, he was smiling. “You notice the damndest things.”
Panic receded. She smiled shakily, shrugged. “It’s a talent.” Then everything hit, and she realized she was going to be ill. He must have realized it too; he grabbed her, hauling her over his lap and hanging her off the side of the nest. Meg retched, fingers digging into moss and bark. Even her toes felt drained. When she was done Santiago pulled her back across his lap, holding her tightly.
“They were—they—” she began, but still couldn’t complete the thought, couldn’t complete the sentence.
“I know,” Santiago whispered, strong arms drawing around her, fingers in her hair. “I know. We’re safe. It’s all right.”
Meg had never been a hysterical sort. Of course, she’d never been threatened at gunpoint, either. Or dragged through the trees by a cat-man. She figured she was overdue.
How long she sat there, curled against a warm chest, shaking and just trying to breathe, she didn’t know. It was still night when she finally calmed, though. Santiago stroked her hair, his heartbeat slow and heavy under her ear. She spread her hand over the pectoral she wasn’t leaning on, feeling the skin thump with blood. Healthy and alive. She flexed her fingers, watching flesh give, muscles hard beneath.
Treasure Hunting Page 5
