by Danica Avet
Primal Song
Danica Avet
Book one in the Cajun Heat series.
Deputy Daisy Picou is not impressed when Ram Reinhardt prowls into town all rock star swagger and big cat ego. She’s been burned by a lion before and has no intention of playing the fool twice. But with one scorching glance the mating frenzy ignites and passion trumps reason. An intense first encounter levels Daisy’s reservations—and most of her living room. And she’s not so sure she minds.
Ram Reinhardt has burned through and brushed aside just about every adrenaline-inducing thrill life’s thrown at him. But Daisy sets the gold standard for a premium rush. Her combative personality should turn him off, but every time they fight they end up in bed, or on the floor, or against a wall—and the sex is always more combustible than the time before. He’s not about to give that up. Ever.
PRIMAL SONG
Danica Avet
Acknowledgments
There are several people I need to thank, but I'll try to keep it short. Jillian, thank you for talking me into attending the right conference at the right time. Grace, thank you for being an amazing editor and for taking a chance on a crazy, talkative Cajun. And finally, a special thank you to my family for sharing their love of music with me over the years. Ram wouldn’t have had a band if it hadn’t been for my many years of listening to everything from big band music to heavy metal.
Chapter One
Ramsey Reinhardt eyed the venue for Saber’s next show, dread curdling his stomach. It wasn’t the type of place they usually played. First off, it was in a one-road town in the middle of nowhere. Second, the band playing before them was singing in another language. He’d played a lot of shows with bands from other countries, but what bothered him the most was the type of music it was. The four-piece band comprised of an accordion, upright bass, fiddle and drum, was playing some kind of waltz. The area in front of the stage was packed with couples doing some strange kind of complicated square dance that involved a lot of twirling and ducking and shit.
“Dude, are you sure about this?” Craig Gamble, Saber’s rhythm guitarist mumbled out of the side of his mouth. “We stick out like sore friggin’ thumbs. Any minute now they’re gonna start playing Dueling Banjos and I’m leaving your asses here.”
Ram ignored the comments from the other band members as they mocked the small-town gathering. Everyone in Saber was on edge from the long tour. In the last year they’d performed three hundred and twenty-five shows in three hundred and twenty cities across the United States. Being stuck on a bus that long would drive anyone insane. Put five shape-shifting big cats and two humans on the same bus and they were lucky no one died.
There’d been a lot of fighting, mostly between the tiger brothers when their arguments over who’d fucked up during a show escalated into unleashed claws and bared fangs. Ram and the other two members of the band let the brothers go at it until they tired themselves out. Even Ram had been in his share of fights with the others, but one good thing about Saber being together for so long was that they knew each other. A quick fight and everything was cool again. Until the next fuck up.
Like the one they faced now. Ram shook his head in disbelief. What was their manager thinking? This was some kind of county fair or some shit. Saber had graduated from doing those years ago, about the same time they stopped playing small bars and roadhouses.
His gaze drifted over the crowded dance floor. The banner above the stage proudly proclaimed the Forty-Third Annual Pointe-Aux-Chat Festival. He vaguely remembered their band manager telling them the parish was called Pointe-Aux-Chat, which meant “point of the cat”. He found the name kind of fitting for a group consisting of two tigers, a lion, a lynx and a panther, but that did little to appease his irritation.
But what the fuck were they doing here?
As though Ram had conjured him, their manager Clint Harrison appeared with a huge bowl of something that smelled delicious and a big grin on his face. “Okay, guys, the cameras are set up. You’re on in an hour and a half. You ready?”
“Ready for what, exactly?” Ram asked before his friends could jump their human manager with claws extended.
Clint’s smile fell. “We’re going to film the video for Digging Deep tonight. I thought we went over this.”
Craig snapped, taking a threatening step forward, his eyes shifting to his tiger half. “Have you taken a look out there, Clint? Those are country shifters, for fuck’s sake! They’re not going to appreciate our music. We’ll be lucky to get out of here alive. Besides, I thought the last show we played in Biloxi was going to be the video for Digging Deep. You said we were free for the rest of the year.”
Ram stepped in before the others could jump down Clint’s throat. “I know you said you were asked if we would play here, but maybe it’s time you told us why.” He folded his arms and peered down the length of his nose at the shorter human.
Clint’s Adam’s apple bobbed before his eyes shifted to the left. Ram followed his manager’s gaze to a tall shifter leaning against a post watching the dancers.
“That’s Monk Badeaux, a cougar shifter,” Clint murmured. “I met up with him while we were in Vegas and uh, we played poker and—”
“Jesus Christ, we were part of a wager?” Craig exploded, a vein pulsing in his forehead.
Clint jumped. “Well uh, sort of, but not really…yeah. See, uh, I didn’t have the funds to cover my debt and Monk—his family has been running this festival for years—thought we might help each other out. You guys get your video shot, expose yourselves to a new audience, and we help put Maison Rouge on the map.”
“Maison what?”
“Maison Rouge, the town we’re in.”
“I thought it was called Point-A-Cat?” Craig demanded.
Clint held up a finger. “Pointe-Aux-Chat. And Pointe-Aux-Chat is the name of the parish. Maison Rouge is the parish seat. Anyway, this will be good publicity for the festival and for Saber.”
Ram forced himself to remain calm. God, he was getting too old for this shit. “Do these people even know what kind of music we play?”
Clint’s watery blue eyes looked at the crowd of dancers thoughtfully. “I’m sure Monk told them.”
“And what happens if they try to lynch us?”
“There are police officers here. They wouldn’t let that happen,” the human said in all seriousness.
“You mean like that one?” Nick asked with a jerk of his thumb at the dancers.
Ram followed his friend’s gesture and saw a tall female with dark hair dancing with a shorter male. Both were dressed in police uniforms, though the black polyester looked a lot better on the female. She was the tallest woman Ram had ever seen, nearly as tall as he, but where he was all muscle and bone, she had a curvy figure despite her swimmer’s shoulders and long legs. She laughed down at the older, shorter male, her ponytail swinging out behind her as they performed some kind of complicated dance step.
Except for the huge handgun strapped to her hip she looked like anyone else. As though she felt his gaze, she glanced around, her chocolate eyes narrowing on Ram for a second before she was swept into the crowd.
“I’m sure the police officers here are very professional,” Clint insisted. “They’re allowed to enjoy themselves too, you know.” He lifted his spoon and took a big bite. Around a mouthful of food, he said, “You guys should take a walk around, get a feel for the crowd, grab something to eat and relax. It’s just another show.”
Ram didn’t like it one bit. This had all the earmarks of a major disaster. He let Clint walk away, knowing there would be no reasoning with him. Saber had been a grungy bar band before Clint showed up with an offer to turn them into stars. The human had followed through, taking risks most managers wouldn’t, but it’d pa
id off. Saber played to sold-out stadiums across the country, had three platinum albums, two Metal Choice Awards, and a solid fan base. Though Ram didn’t like playing because of a lost card game, he couldn’t deny that there was something exciting about playing to a possibly hostile crowd.
“You’re going along with this shit, aren’t you?” Nick grumbled as they made their way through the thick crowd to the food stands.
“It can’t hurt to expand our fan base,” Ram conceded.
“Shit.”
“We don’t even have all of our equipment,” Craig announced. “Just how are we supposed to put on a quality show without our shit?”
Ram stopped and looked at his friend, the others halting next to them. “Are you telling me you’re so pampered you can’t play a gig with just a couple of amps and your guitar?”
Predictably, Craig rose to the challenge in Ram’s voice. “Of course I can! I just figured if we were going to do this at all, we should do it right.”
Ram started walking again, knowing they could put on one hell of a show with what they had on their bus. They’d be without the rows and rows of specialty amps, but they had enough to show these country people how to rock out with their cocks out.
Trick, Saber’s bass player, stepped up next to Ram, his bright-green eyes scanning the crowd. “At least the scenery is nice,” he mused as he scouted out a couple of attractive shifter females. The black panther did love the ladies and they loved him right back. That is until he got bored, then it was time to call the police because the smooth-talking panther had a crazy stalker following his ass all over the place. “Maybe we can stick around for a little while if they don’t kill us,” Leland replied, elbowing Nick in the ribs.
Ram barely paid attention. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the dance floor where the cop danced with male after male, her bright smile and flushed cheeks so different from the made-up faces of the groupies who followed the band. Silently he agreed with Craig. Maybe they could stick around a little while. Just enough time to test out the waters with that female.
Deputy Daisy Picou was winded from all the dancing. Billy Toussaint and the All-Stars were in fine form tonight, playing some of her favorite Swamp Pop songs. Her uniform stuck to her body as she elbowed her way to the front of the hotdog stand. She was starving, her bear’s metabolism had burned through the massive meal she’d eaten before going on duty tonight.
She got two dogs fully loaded and edged her way to the side of the stand to eat. The fairgrounds were packed, a good sign. All proceeds from the festival went to a different parish-run organization every year and this year the money would go to the Senior Citizen’s Center in Maison Rouge. The number of people eating, dancing, shopping at the crafts booths and waiting in line for rides made her near-starvation worth it.
It was also gratifying to see so many out-of-towners in the crowd. Each year the Festival Board promoted for months ahead of the event, but it seemed to have actually worked this year. Daisy quickly recognized the shifters and humans who lived in the surrounding parishes because they came to the festival every year. This time though, there was an abundance of new faces mingling with the old, familiar ones.
Thinking of new faces, she searched for the five males who’d stood out like sore thumbs. She’d pegged them as big-city cat shifters. She’d been a cop long enough to size people up and those five just about screamed “finicky kitties”. The tallest of the group had been gorgeous in a very lion-like way. Well, as lion-like as a male could get without an actual mane. She prayed he wasn’t a lion shifter. That would be a shame. As far as Daisy was concerned, lions were nothing more than lazy bastards who only exerted themselves when there was fresh pussy to add to their harems of women.
She shook her head and started her second hotdog, not caring about the mess she undoubtedly made of her face. She hoped those guys weren’t troublemakers. The Pointe-Aux-Chat Festival had its share of drunken incidents, but for the most part the humans and shifters who were drawn to the fairgrounds got along well.
Daisy kept careful watch on the edges of the fairgrounds, looking for teenagers who might be slipping off to do something they shouldn’t. She’d seen too many hearts broken when hormones went crazy at the festival. Satisfied the cubs were where they belonged, she devoted her attention to finishing her food.
Just as she pondered going back for a third dog, the thrum of a bass guitar powered through the fairgrounds. Her clothes vibrated from the sound. Assuming it had to be the next band tuning up, she barely paid attention. If she had another hotdog she’d have heartburn, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. No, she’d just clean up and—
The thrum came again, this time accompanied by a rhythmically pounding drum. A guitar soon joined. With her back to the stage, she could only see the crowd and what she noticed left her uneasy.
The older folks were frowning. Shifters and humans alike folded their arms over their chests or covered their ears. But it was the young people who had Daisy wondering if she was about to witness a riot in action for the first time. She glanced over her shoulder to find out what had the kids in such a frenzy of excitement. Her jaw dropped as she spied four of the five big city cats arranged on stage. They weren’t wearing casual clothes now, but wore black jeans and black t-shirts, though she glimpsed skin behind the drum set.
The tempo picked up until the guitar player, an outrageous-looking tiger shifter with a Mohawk practically burned up the strings of his guitar. The other tiger leaned against the first’s back, his face a study of intense concentration as he followed the lead. The bass player was another gorgeous cat with black hair and muscles. The drummer, who she could finally see once the other band members moved around, looked like a smaller cat, but was equally attractive as the other four men.
Someone growled, low at first, but increasing in volume until it became an ear-shattering roar. A tall male with a buzz cut ran onto the stage wearing nothing but a very tight pair of black jeans, black shit-kickers and shades. He rested one foot on the amp at the edge of the stage and roared again.
Daisy’s ears rang from the undeniably lion-like scream that was immediately answered by the screams of about five hundred teenagers who ran en masse for the stage.
Oh shit!
Ram was having the time of his fucking life. As soon as he belted out the opening line of Let Me Hear You Roar, a crowd streamed from everywhere to gather around the stage. Their energy bolstered his confidence, as well as his band mates because the tension on stage disappeared as they settled in to do what they did best—play music.
He was vaguely aware of some kids attempting to get on stage, but figures dressed in black surrounded the platform, protecting the band from overzealous fans. Ram couldn’t be bothered with security though, not when he was in his element. He screamed and roared through five older songs, the set as familiar as breathing. His heart pounded, adrenaline scoured his veins. This was what he fucking lived for.
He took a short breather while Nick, their lead guitarist, took stage for his solo in Raising Hell. Ram gulped back a bottle of water Clint held out to him and then wiped his face with a towel, his gaze scanning the crowd. They were totally into it. A mosh pit had formed right in front of the stage, young bodies tumbling into each other. A wall of people surrounded the writhing mass of bodies, shoving the kids back in and helping those who stumbled back onto their feet.
“Fuck,” he breathed when a bony kid catapulted out of the group of moshers and straight toward the stage and probably a fractured skull.
He stepped forward, ready to spring out to stop the collision, but a black-clad figure expertly caught the body and tossed him back into the throng of metal heads. The long, dark hair caught back in a tight ponytail looked familiar. The woman turned to shout something to a deputy next to her and Ram caught her grin.
It was the dancing cop. She didn’t look freaked out by the moshing and seemed eager to join in herself. She caught another young male almost twice her size, shoving him away
from the stage and into the arms of his friends. It had to be one of the coolest things Ram had seen in a long time.
Again, as though she felt his stare, she glanced over her shoulder straight at him. This close she wasn’t beautiful, or even pretty. Her jaw was too strong, her chin too stubborn, and her nose a little too long, but she had the most gorgeous eyes. They were wide and slightly slanted with thick eyelashes surrounding irises so dark they were almost black with gold specks around the pupils. Ram’s heart slammed faster and it had nothing to do with being on stage.
Her eyes lightened slightly, her animal moving through her as though checking him out for itself before it disappeared and she turned away again. Feeling as though he’d just had a life-changing experience, Ram almost missed his cue to return to the stage. Only Clint’s frantic shove reminded him he was there to work, not to think sappy shit like maybe he’d been looking for her for a long time.
*
The hotdogs seemed to settle right in the middle of her chest and all she wanted to do was pop a couple of antacids and put her feet up. But no, she was stuck protecting the big-city cats from the metal-maddened teenagers. Not that she really minded. She wasn’t so old she couldn’t remember what it was like to get high off the adrenaline you could find in a mosh pit. Hell, she was half tempted to join in.
With her back nearly touching the stage, she felt the music pound through her with primal fury. The blood rushing through her veins seemed to keep tempo with the beat of the bass and drum, her heart adding a little backbeat that made her want to hurl herself into the mosh pit. But she’d stopped doing crazy things like that when she became a cop. Nowadays she stuck to nice, calm things like country music and long runs through the woods.
The lion was singing again, each word out of his mouth seething with passion. She didn’t pay attention to the lyrics, her whole body sizzling with the raw hunger in his song. She didn’t have to know what he was singing about to know he raged because of heartbreak, she felt it in her bones.
