Prowl the Night

by Crystal Jordan

  A hiss erupted from her throat, her back bowing to press herself deeper into his mouth. His lips shaped around her nipple and he suckled hard. Tingles exploded over her skin, and she barely contained a whimper. Her head fell back, her pussy clenching on nothing as the sensation rocketed through her. He bit her gently and she cried out.

  It was so good, but not what she wanted.

  Reaching between them, she circled her fingers around the base of his cock. The silky skin stretched taut over the steely shaft. It pulsed in her hand, and she pumped him between her fingers. He shuddered, hissing in animalistic yearning.

  Leaning forward, she gave one of his flat brown nipples a delicate lick. His big body jerked in reaction, his fingers came up to grip her knees, pushing them apart until he could slip in to touch her as intimately as she was touching him.

  “You’re so wet.” He gritted the words out between clenched fangs.

  “Yes.” Drawing him forward by the cock, she spread her thighs wider. “I want you inside me.”

  “Dios, yesss,” he hissed.

  She rubbed the head of his dick over her slick lips, pressed it hard against her clit, and arched into the contact. His hands hit the desk on either side of her hips, his claws scraping the polished wood. She loved teasing him, loved having this big, strong male as hers to command. This was the only time she knew she had his undivided attention.

  Guiding his cock to her opening, she eased the head into her pussy. He purred, shoving forward to work his length deeper into her channel. The stretch was divine. And she wanted more. She wanted the rest of the world to disappear until there was only her, only him, and only this.

  She wrapped her legs tight around his muscular flanks, forcing him closer, deeper into her pussy. The thrust and recoil of his hips was fast, rough. Perfect. It drove her to the very edge of sanity, made her gasp for breath. Sweat made their flesh cling wherever they touched, and the scent of sex in the air was intoxicating. He ground himself against her clit, and she almost exploded. Her nails turned to claws on his back, and she knew she hurt him, but he only fucked her harder, gave her exactly what she craved.

  He groaned. “I want to come.”

  So did she. “Not yet. Not yet!”

  Choking, he snarled and held back his orgasm while she did the same. Her sex spasmed each time he entered her, tension twisting tighter until she thought she’d die before she gave in. Her body jolted when his pelvis slapped against her, when his cock filled her. The soft hair on his chest rubbed over her nipples, stimulating the sensitive points. All of it made her want to scream.

  Her control broke.

  “Now, Tomas! Make me come.” She raked her claws down his flesh and bit his shoulder.

  “Thank God,” he rasped.

  His hands grasped her ass and lifted her off the desk. He powered his cock into her over and over. Panther screams ripped from both of them as they reached orgasm together. She shoved her fingers into his hair and forced his mouth to hers. The kiss was a wild thing—they bit at each other, tongues twining, groaning into each other’s mouths. Her pussy pulsed around his cock, squeezing him in waves that left her shaking and almost feral. His hot come filled her, and the Panther within her purred in satisfaction.

  He groaned and set her back on the desk, his hands gliding up and down her back. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. Relaxing, she rested her head on his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.

  The phone blared loudly, a rude awakening from the euphoria that fuzzed her thoughts. They jolted at the sound, and he slid out of her. Their groans echoed in the office, but the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. She felt Tomas’s hesitation, knew he warred with his ever-present duties as Second.

  She snorted. As if there was any real contest. She was simply grasping at straws to comfort herself. “Just answer it. You know you want to.”

  “It can wait.” But he flinched toward it when it rang again.

  “You’re just going to be thinking about it until you call your father back.” In other words, his mind would be on something besides her. As usual.

  At least he didn’t bother to deny it. “Are you sure?”

  “I need a shower. I’m going to our room.” Resignation shimmered through her, and her shoulders drooped. She was suddenly exhausted once more. Heaving a sigh, she picked up her clothes, shook out as many of the creases as she could, and put them back on. Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of the cold sweat in the fabric. Her fear was a stink she’d have to get rid of as soon as possible.

  “No, stay with me for a little while.” He pulled on his own clothes, moving with a speed no human could match. The phone rang a third time, then a fourth. He grabbed her arm and reeled her in to sit on his lap, and then snagged the phone.

  She settled her head against his shoulder, too wiped out to argue with him.

  “Pai?” The Portuguese word for father rolled off his tongue, and as usual, he became an entirely different person in the blink of an eye. Gone was the warm lover and in his place was a zealous taskmaster. The younger version of his controlling sire. “Yes, of course I read through the documentation you sent me.” He rifled through the paperwork on his desk and then leaned to the side to retrieve some of the scattered sheets on the floor. “I was just in the middle of an e-mail to you when I . . . when there was an interruption. No, I’m back on track now.”

  And even though she was in his lap, curled against the heat of his body, she was dismissed just that quickly for the more important aspects of his life. It was depressing, disheartening, and made her regret her impulsive need to find comfort in his arms. But he was her mate—wasn’t she supposed to put him above all others?

  Too bad he didn’t feel the same.

  A waft of hot sex mixed with the cold sweat hit her nose and her stomach heaved. The combination wasn’t a welcome one. As much as she enjoyed sex with Tomas no matter how they weren’t getting along, she didn’t like the isolation she dealt with or the reminder that sex was all that earned her attention from her mate. She sighed, too spent for anger or tears. She forced her emotions to freeze into numbness—if she couldn’t manage acceptance, then she could achieve nothingness. It was a habit she was unhappy to realize she’d developed.

  Closing her eyes, she let the exhaustion take her. She simply couldn’t deal with any more, so she retreated into sleep.

  3

  Dialing the phone before it could start ringing, Tomas tried to keep it from waking Ciri. She needed the sleep, needed the healing that rest would bring. The line connected, and a cool female voice answered. “Hola?”

  “Teresa, it’s Tomas.” He’d sent the heir to the European Pride an e-mail saying he wanted to speak to her, but he thought this would be better finessed over the phone than in writing.

  “It’s good to hear from you again.” They’d met for Tomas’s visit to Spain during his mating tour. He’d liked her, thought she was intelligent with a keen understanding of Panther politics. If anyone could get through to—or go around—her father, it was her. “What can I do for you?”

  The amusement in the question told him she knew exactly why he was calling. Of course she did. He decided bluntness would be the best approach for getting what he wanted. “You can get your father to send someone to this summit. Better yet, you can come yourself.”

  A long pause greeted that statement, and then she sighed. “I would love to, but Father is dead set against this. Trust me, I’ve tried. Every political benefit I can come up with isn’t good enough.”

  “Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair, cradling Ciri close to him. That Teresa was on his side helped, but he doubted he could bring something to the table she hadn’t already considered. He stroked a hand down his mate’s back, and then he froze as an idea struck him. “So give him an argument that’s not political.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  A ferocious smile curved his lips. “How old are you? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?�
�

  “My twenty-ninth birthday was three months ago.” Her words were slow and drawn out, as if she wasn’t certain she should tell him anything more.

  “Perfect. That’s close enough to thirty to justify a mating tour, isn’t it? Give that benefit to your father, and see if he’ll agree to let you leave Spain.” He resettled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “If your stop in San Francisco happens to coincide with the summit . . .”

  “I can sell that.”

  There was a small hitch to her voice that made him sit up straighter. “But?”

  Another long pause fuzzed the phone line. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll work this out, and I’ll be there.”

  “I look forward to it, then.” He stroked his hand down Ciri’s hair when she stirred. “I’ll let Antonio know you’re tentatively on board until you confirm with your father.”

  “Do that.”

  “Good. Thank you, Teresa. I think this is an important event for every Pride to take part in.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll be in touch. Good-bye.”

  He said his farewells and hung up.

  “That was well done.” Ciri’s head came up and she blinked sleepily.

  Warmth flooded his chest at the unexpected compliment. When was the last time anyone had told him he was doing well at anything? “Thanks. I hope it works out.”

  “Then I hope that for you, too.” She yawned and pushed to her feet. “I’m going to our room. I need a shower.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you for dinner.” He watched her shoulders stiffen at the mention of dinner, but she merely nodded and left the room.

  It was the first time since she’d swept into his office that he’d had a moment of silence, where he’d had nothing pressing to occupy his thoughts. What to do about Ciri’s possible stalker had nagged at the back of his mind, but now it was his sole focus.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  He hadn’t told his father what had happened to Ciri tonight. And letting Antonio know about it could turn into a sticky situation. Ciri was hunted in North American territory, and it was this Pride’s responsibility to keep visitors safe. Tomas liked Antonio, respected him, and didn’t want to cause trouble. Then again, if they proved Ciri’s instincts were wrong, it would cause trouble for the South American Pride.

  And knowing all of that did little to help Tomas decide how to move forward.

  “Mierda,” he swore softly.

  On reflex, he reached for the phone to call his grandfather. His hand paused as it hovered over the receiver and grief delivered a fresh blow.

  He couldn’t call his grandfather.

  The man had died over six months ago. Tomas swallowed hard, his chest tightening until he could barely breathe as the pain of it hit him once more.

  His fingers began to tremble and he dropped his hand to flatten it against the top of his desk. Pulling in slow, deep breaths, he blinked back the sudden moisture that burned his eyes. Dios, everything was in chaos. His life, his career, his marriage. One moment he’d had everything together and the next the world was spinning out of control.

  Not for the first time, he wished he had someone to talk to. But there was no one. Telling Ciri how her being threatened was a political problem would be cruel, and would only add to her dislike of her position in the Prides. He couldn’t do that to her. His father would want Ciri silenced or he’d use this against Antonio, depending on which he thought would offer the best advantage to the Brazilian Pride.

  Sighing, Tomas pushed to his feet. He didn’t know if it was the smartest thing to do, but the right thing to do was keep his word to Ciri. Antonio needed to know if there was a rogue Panther in his territory, for everyone’s safety. Tomas would just have to deal with his father when it was done.

  Leaving his office—the Second’s office—he strode down the hall to see his cousin, Miguel. The man’s metal and glass office was as cool and composed as he always looked. He glanced up the moment Tomas tapped on the open door. “Yes, primo?”

  His cousin had been the Second in North America before he’d mated with Antonio’s sister. And Antonio had been the Second in South America for almost fifteen years, relegated there until his tyrannical father’s death. Most Seconds only stayed for a couple of years, and for Ciri’s sake, Tomas was grateful they wouldn’t be here for longer than that. The sooner she had to deal with her true position in their Pride, the better. She’d be unable to sidestep it in Brazil.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Antonio, and I’d like you to be there, if you have a moment to spare.”

  “Sure.” Miguel slid a hand down his long hair. He squinted. “Is this about someone chasing your mate?”

  Tomas chuckled. “You always find out everything first.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “So Antonio knows already?”

  “Not yet. He’s been in a conference call with the African Pride, but he’s just finished.” He unfolded his long body from his chair, moving to join Tomas at the door. “I was about to go talk to him myself. We can do it together.”

  “Gracias, primo.” He clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “I wish we were still in the same Pride.”

  Miguel slipped his hands into his pockets and began walking down the hall. “I’m happy with how things stand. My best friend is my leader, his sister is my mate.” He shrugged. “Besides, I . . . I doubt Uncle Pedro and I would have agreed on how matters should be handled.”

  Tomas didn’t agree with how his father handled things either, and they’d had more than one argument about it. He seemed to be at odds with everyone lately. However, he did agree with how Antonio handled matters, which was probably why he was far less eager than Ciri to leave San Francisco. He could see some of his grandfather’s influence here. Antonio had learned a great deal as Second in South America. “I can see how you might feel that way. I’m glad I have the chance to be second in command here—to see how other Prides operate.”

  The Second system had been in place for centuries, a way to cement bonds between Prides. Humans once used arranged marriages in much the same way, to ensure alliances. But Panther matings were determined by destiny, and the Second system worked so well that even when arranged marriage went out of fashion in most cultures, Seconds were still sent to other Prides.

  Seconds were usually members of a leading family, and most typically the heir to the current Pride leader. The position lasted for a few years and then another Pride would negotiate to have a Second from among their members chosen. It was a constant struggle to stay in control, to form the strongest allegiances, to exert the most influence in other Prides.

  He had no idea if what he was about to drop in Antonio’s lap would gain him influence, or lose some of the influence he’d been trying to build. In the end, he was more worried about Ciri’s safety than anything else, so he ignored the political consequences and did what he had to for his wife. The feline inside him still wanted to rip apart anyone who would frighten his mate, but the man was in control now, and logic would serve her better than bestial instinct.

  It took only a few minutes to find Antonio in Solana’s sitting room, their infant daughter cradled in his brawny arms. He nodded when they came in the room. “Gentlemen, how can I help you?”

  “One moment.” Miguel stepped back and held the door open as a lanky man strode in. “I asked Landon to join us. I think his input could be important to this conversation.”

  Toasting everyone with his ever-present cup of coffee, Landon smiled easily.

  Solana’s eyebrows arched. “Well, if we need our security advisor, then something is definitely going on. Start talking.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Tomas worked to hide his discomfort. Landon wasn’t a Panther. He was mated to a Panther—or as mated as a human could be considering he couldn’t assume cat form or bite and mark his mate. Antonio had allowed him to join his Pride along with his wife, and this was the one area that Tomas wasn’t
sure he supported the other man’s decision. He knew Ciri disagreed with the idea vehemently. But no matter what they thought, Antonio could do what he pleased in his own Pride, and Landon was an expert in security. Even if he weren’t a shifter, Tomas could count on his abilities in that area.

  “Who wants to go first?” Antonio settled his hip against the arm of Solana’s chair, jiggling the baby when she started to fuss.

  There wasn’t much to tell, but between Tomas and Miguel, the story was out in under a minute. Landon began pacing in front of the window, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed every word. “Can she give you a description?”

  “No, she just said it was a Panther.” Tomas shrugged helplessly. “Other than ‘tall with dark hair,’ which describes the majority of Panther males, she only sensed him. But she was quite certain.” His shoulders were tense as he waited for them to deny the possibility, to question his wife’s sanity. He believed in her, but her unease in the United States hardly endeared her to these people. Still, he’d defend her with his last breath, make them listen. He wanted her to feel safe here.

  “Huh.” Landon sank into a chair, his coffee cup dangling from his fingertips.

  “The Ruiz family.” Miguel straightened away from the wall, his face suddenly alert. “I can’t think of anyone else.”

  Solana went ghostly pale, her hand groping for Antonio’s. “It’s been almost two years, though. Why would they suddenly resurface now?”

  “It seems unlikely.” Antonio covered his wife’s fingers with his own. The two reflected a loving, united front. Exactly how Tomas wanted to be with Ciri, exactly how they pretended to be, but weren’t. Antonio’s eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. “As far as we know, they weren’t even in San Francisco anymore.”