Panther (Prime Prowlers Book 1)

by Kelsey Vance

  Ryden gets out of the car, and I eye his lithe, muscled figure, imagining him with a cowboy hat. The man could make anything look good. He lounges against the trunk, long denim-clad legs crossed, his T-shirt sleeves stretching around his biceps as he folds his arms. He appears distinctly unimpressed by the gleaming horses cantering around the rodeo arena at the foot of the hill.

  I sidle up to him. "Why are you pouting?"

  "My cat self doesn't like horses. Actually, no, that's not true." Ryden takes a deep breath. "He thinks—or I think—that horses look like prey."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yeah." He winces guiltily.

  "So wait—when you shift, you actually hunt? And eat?"

  "Sometimes," he mutters.

  I process that for a minute. "You know, if I were a vegetarian, this might be a problem."

  "It's an instinct, okay?"

  "Ry, it's all right. I get it." Although the image of his panther gnawing on a fresh carcass, gulping chunks of bloody venison, is kind of nauseating.

  He notices my expression. "You're grossed out."

  "No. No, it's just—the mental image. And you like your meat rare even in human form, don't you?" I say, recalling the very rare burgers Oakland grilled for us.

  "We all do."

  "So when you're the cat, you're still you, inside."

  "I'm as much me as I always am. I am a panther, Cilla, and I'm a man. Both." A quick shudder runs over him. "And I haven't changed in couple of days."

  "How long can you go without shifting?"

  "If I don't shift every couple days or so, I start getting this feeling, like something's wrong. It's like an unscratchable itch, and if it goes on for too long, I'll eventually lose my appetite and get weaker. Oak and Dae can go longer without getting the urge, but I've always had to shift pretty regularly. The longest I've ever gone was a week, and that was hell."

  "We'll find you a nice cornfield where you can shift and prowl, but let's spend an hour or two here first, okay? Please? I've never been to anything like this." I kiss the side of his neck, and the corner of his jaw, trailing my fingers across his abs and pressing my chest against his arm.

  "Are you using your body to convince me to stay?"

  "Uh-huh. Is it working?"

  "Too damn well." He shoves himself away from the car and grabs my hand. "Let's go watch the meat compete."

  "Please don't say that too loudly in this crowd," I murmur. "These folks are serious about their horses."

  As we're walking toward the bleachers, I draw deep breaths of clean, warm air. There's a scent of fresh grass and rich earth that even the heavy, oily smell of the animals can't hide, and mixed with that fragrance is the aroma of grilled burgers and hot dogs, cotton candy and popcorn, drifting in from the food stands.

  Ryden's stomach growls loudly, and I push him to the right. "Course correction. We need to get you some food before we sit down."

  "I think you're right." There's a golden glint in his eyes that isn't just from the setting sun. The predator in him is waking up.

  To distract him, I say softly, "So when you're the panther, how do you feel about me?"

  "What do you mean, how do I feel about you?" He doesn't look at me.

  "Do you—want me?"

  "That's twisted, Cilla. And no, I don't. Not in the same way."

  "So would you mate with an actual panther if you were in panther form?"

  He stares at me. "Your brain is a scary place."

  "Come on, it's just a question."

  "No, because they're animals, Cilla," he snaps. "I'm a shifter. It's—different."

  He's actually mad at me. "Okay, sorry. I didn't know that panther sex was a taboo topic."

  "No, I'm sorry." He runs his hand over his short curls. "It's just—I've never talked about this with anyone before."

  Warmth floods my heart. I smile and weave my fingers through his. "So talk to me."

  "When I'm the panther, I can smell you more strongly than anything else," he says, low. "You have a kind of sweet and spicy thing going, and that makes me want to hang around you. And I'm more protective, I guess. More aggressive. But there's no sexual desire, although the emotions I have about you stay the same. The feeling that I, um—" He swallows. "When I'm the panther, I still—" He stops suddenly, taking both my hands and caressing my fingers with his thumbs, his hazel eyes seeking mine. "I love you."

  The murmured conversations, the nasal announcer's voice on the arena megaphone, the chirping of insects in the grass, the thump of hooves—it all fades to a distant blur, and Ryden's words echo in my ears over and over again.

  I love you.

  I love you.

  I've hesitated too long, and uncertainty is creeping into his eyes.

  "I love you, too." I release the words, and they're deeper and truer than anything I've ever said. This, what I feel for him, isn't merely an emotion—I know better than anyone that emotions are unreliable. It's a choice I've made, a certainty that this—us, together—is the healthiest thing I've ever experienced.

  "I love you," I say again, more firmly this time, with my most brilliant smile.

  Desire wakes in his eyes, and he tugs me closer. But I laugh and wriggle away, backing toward the food tables. Ryden lowers his head, teeth bared in a smile. A faint growl ripples from his throat, buried under the noise of the rodeo—but two of the horses hear it. They snort and shy.

  "What's gotten into you?" grumbles their owner, struggling with the leads as the horses' nostrils flare and their hooves beat a frenzied dance on the dirt.

  Ryden sidesteps further away from the horses, and I steal the moment and sprint to the concessions area, bracing my hands on the table near the grill. "Two burgers, please," I say. "And can you make sure one of them is rare? Very rare." As I'm passing the cash to the woman, a hand cups my rear, and fingers trace the back of my neck. I smile. "Ryden—"

  And then I freeze, because those fingers aren't Ryden's.

  Before I can react, there's a snap, and a band of metal lies cold against the skin of my neck. I whirl, thrusting out with my power—and nothing happens.

  Riff's dark face creases in a smile. " 'Ello, love."

  Iris is right behind him, gripping Ryden's wrist. He moves stiffly, looking as though he might be sick, and there's an odd shimmer around the edges of his body that freaks me out.

  "Did you think we wouldn't find you?" Iris purrs. "Did you think you could take our property and get away clean?"

  "Um, do you still want these burgers?" says the grill woman from behind me.

  "No," I answer. "We're leaving." Lowering my voice, I say, "We need to take this elsewhere."

  "Agreed," says Iris. "Come along, cat. Let's go."

  I don't bother asking how they found us. Despite our precautions, it was only a matter of time until they tracked us down. The Patronage has hundreds of magical artifacts—no doubt one of them allows for the finding of fugitives. Maybe all they needed was to be within a certain radius of us, and making the connection between Eisuke and my father brought them close enough to use whatever magical LoJack they had on hand.

  They take us to a navy SUV, where I'm shoved into the front seat with the driver—Brenda, of course. Riff and Iris sandwich Ryden in the back seat.

  Brenda drives away from the rodeo without a word about where we're going or what they're going to do to us.

  "You don't have to bring him along," I say. "You can let him go."

  "He's leverage," says Brenda.

  I twist in my seat, noting Ryden's pallor and twisted features. His breath hisses through clenched teeth, as if he's in terrible pain. "What are you doing to him?"

  Iris smiles. "If you target a shifter's pain receptors and bombard them constantly, he can't change form. Carnal magic is very simple, really. Basic. Unevolved." Her lip curls, and Ryden flinches as if she struck him.

  "Don't, please. Let him go."

  "And I suppose you'll give us the Madstone then?"

  Will I? I
went through a lot of trouble to keep it out of their hands. But right now, with my powers suppressed and Ryden in pain, I don't have much of a choice.

  I pull the chain over my head. "Here. You can have it."

  Brenda's eyes slice in my direction. "Have you bonded with it? Used it?"

  "Yes."

  She sighs. "Then it's not so simple as a gifting. We'll have to disconnect you from the stone. Put it back on."

  She takes a sharp turn. The SUV bounces down a rutted lane to a broken-down farmhouse with boarded windows and a half-collapsed barn. Weeds and prairie grasses choke the yard and the surrounding fields. To the north stands a windbreak, a row of tall evergreens. They cast long, rippling shadows across the field and the abandoned buildings.

  "Out," says Brenda. "We'll do it here."

  Riff hauls me out of the car, while Iris shoves Ryden from the back seat. He collapses, his body convulsing with a fit of pain. Grinning, Iris flicks her fingers at him and he groans, a broken sound that lacerates my heart.

  "Stop!" I cry. "Please, stop!"

  "We have to keep him under control," says Brenda. "But do ease off a bit, Iris. It's not necessary to torture the beast."

  "Thank you," I breathe. "I'll cooperate, I really—"

  Pain spears my consciousness, jagged red blades in my eyes, and I scream. The piercing sound is swallowed up by the vast expanse of flat fields and darkening sky, but another shriek tears from my throat. Brenda is ripping my soul from my body.

  Ryden is on his hands and knees, roaring with the force of his pain and mine. I have to help him—I have to use the Madstone. Frantically I reach for my power, but with the charmed collar in place, I can't use any of it.

  Brenda steps toward me, hand outstretched, and the Madstone floats up on its chain, yearning toward her. White glowing tendrils stretch from the stone to my chest, disappearing inside me, and with every tug of Brenda's power, the pain skyrockets. She's going to split me open and sever my soul. I'm going to die. I'm going to—

  A blinding explosion in my head, and the Madstone pulses ferociously and goes silent, cold. Inactive.

  Brenda rips it off me and places it around her own neck. "We're done here," she says to the others.

  Iris frowns. "We're going to let them live? She betrayed us!"

  "She won't last the night," Brenda says.

  I'm swaying where I stand, my head ricocheting splinters of pain, not sure what's keeping me upright.

  Brenda unclicks the suppression collar, her slim fingers cool against my throbbing skin. A crawling sensation tickles my skin—an unbearable creeping unease that makes me squirm. I want to lie down and rub my limbs, claw at them until the feeling goes away. But I can't move.

  "All right then," Brenda says, removing a small compact case from her bag. "The finishing touch."

  Scraping her thumbnail through the contents of the compact, she traces a symbol onto my forehead, and another onto Ryden's. He contorts instantly, shimmering between panther form and human shape until he solidifies as the cat. His clothes burst into rags, not torn by swelling muscles but split apart by the surge of magical energy. Fortunately the keys to his car are in the pocket of my shorts.

  The dark panther snarls, but when he bunches his muscles to leap at Brenda, he's twisted backward by an invisible force.

  "Don't try that again, beast," says Brenda. "Or I may rethink letting you live. You'll be stuck in this shape till dawn. Priscilla, on the other hand—she won't make it. I've split her spirit and dissociated her powers. No wielder can survive it for long."

  My body is already beginning to tremble and jerk, as if my insides are lunging, straining against my flesh and skin. My stomach roils, my lungs twitch in my chest. I can hardly breathe.

  "A pity," says Brenda, tilting her head as she surveys me. "You're powerful. You could have been one of us someday. But your stupidity, disloyalty, and lack of focus led you to this end."

  She walks to the SUV without another word. Iris slinks past me smirking, and Riff gives me a parting smack on the butt.

  The SUV rumbles to life and rolls away, carrying the Zenith Trio and the Madstone. As if a fist suddenly unclenched, I'm released from my upright position, and I fall like a chopped tree, crashing onto the grass and dirt. For a minute I can breathe—and then another spasm takes me, and I struggle in the throes of it, sweat breaking out all over my body.

  Through the red haze of pain, I see a black face floating over me, oval nostrils widening. Green-gold eyes, round as marbles, shine through the gloom, and a long pink tongue slides out to swipe my face. Ryden pushes me with his muzzle, urgently. Get up.

  "I can't," I whisper. "I just can't."

  It's growing darker, night gathering around us, and fireflies wink on and off in the gloom. The night breeze flows over me, but it's not refreshing—it's excruciating, worsening the deadly cold that grips my bones, even as my skin breaks out in a frenzied sweat. I'm shaking uncontrollably, my teeth rattling in my head.

  Ryden mewls, a cry of pity and anxiety. He opens his jaws and fits them around my arm and shoulder, softening his lips, gripping tightly without breaking the skin. Then he tugs me, slowly, slowly, foot by foot over the ground. Sharp twigs and clumps of tough grass rake my back, but they're only drops of pain in a great lake of agony.

  The panther pulls me to the dilapidated porch of the old farmhouse, but he can't manage to get me up the steps and into the house. Waves of anguish and nausea roll over me, the spasms of a body out of sync with its own energy. I know that the same spell is keeping Ryden from reverting to human form. He stands beside me, his silky coat shuddering over and over as he tries to transform so he can help me.

  "It's okay." I reach for him, stroking his foreleg with my fingers. "Stop, Ryden, stop. You'll hurt yourself."

  My body contorts again, and I gasp, fighting, clawing at my soul, willing it to stay, binding it to my bones. "Ryden, Ryden," I whimper, and he lies down, his huge black body alongside mine. A soft moan curls from his throat as he rests his muzzles against my shoulder, and he licks my ear with the tip of his tongue. I wrap both arms around his massive front paw and hold on as another surge of agony breaks over me. Burying my face in his coat, I scream.

  Again. And again. A hundred times, a thousand, the pain comes, the tearing of my soul. Time doesn't exist. There is only pain, and the effort of scraping myself back together every time the spell rips through me. Trembling, drenched in sweat, I wonder if I can do it again. Should I let my soul go? Let it wrench free of my body and float away in peace? Then, at least, I'd be rid of the pain. But every time I consider it, Ryden's mournful eyes meet mine, his nose pressing against my cheek, his tail curling around my leg. Don't give up.

  Now and then he tries to shift, his fur and muscles rippling with effort—but nothing happens.

  The spell has to break sometime. It has to.

  Another wave. Another gut-twisting, skin-stretching eruption of pain.

  When it passes, I twist away from Ryden and retch into the dry grass beside me. The acrid stench of bile makes his sensitive nose twitch, but he doesn't leave my side.

  He could leave me. Could run across the farmlands and maybe find help.

  But I think he knows that if he left, he'd come back to find me soulless and empty among the weeds. I need him here. He is my anchor—

  I convulse again, my throat too raw for screams.

  And again.

  -17-

  Sanctuary

  Another spasm sets my teeth on edge, jarring my bones and twisting my limbs. And then it's over.

  Did I imagine it, or was it a little less painful this time, a little easier to scratch the pieces of myself back together? Is the dark blue of the sky a shade lighter?

  A few minutes of relief, and then another wave. Definitely milder now, and when the pain ebbs, I scrape out a whisper, a plea to the glossy black panther at my side. "Try."

  He stands, trembles, and transforms.

  He's human again, crouching besid
e me like a beautiful god from legend, naked and so perfect that I turn away from the pain of it. Here I am, sweaty and stained and smelly, my pants soaked because I couldn't contain myself in my agony, my hair grimed with dirt and bile.

  "Don't look at me." My chin trembles.

  "Angel," he whispers. "You are strong. You are beautiful. You survived."

  In the ragged remains of his pants, he finds his wallet, tattered but mostly intact, and tucks it into the waistband of my soiled shorts. Then he slips one arm behind my shoulders and another under my knees, and he lifts me, curving my body against his chest.

  I'm too weary to protest any further, too drained to focus on my embarrassment. It slips away as I repeat his words to myself: You are strong. You are beautiful. You survived.

  He walks, and walks, past the cornfields, down the empty dirt roads. No cars pass by, and he doesn't stop at any of the farmhouses. He's shifter strong, but even for him, it's a long way, made longer by the burden of my weight. By the time we reach the empty rodeo grounds, his arms are shaking and his breath comes in broken gasps.

  We're lucky that the Patronage didn't slit our tires. They counted on me dying, and they didn't care about punishing Ryden. He wasn't the one who betrayed them.

  I vomit again before Ryden gets me into the back seat. I want to cry, but I can't. I am too tired. I am ruined.

  Ryden pulls on a pair of shorts and a shirt from his pack. I'm half-conscious as we drive, oblivious to where he's taking me. In Nebraska, there aren't motels every few miles or so—they're spread out, hard to find without the help of an app. But at last, the wheels crunch to a stop.

  "Hang tight, babe," he says, and he's gone. I'm alone in the dark car, helpless, fighting back a fresh wave of nausea and a jolt of irrational terror. I know it doesn't make sense to be scared—the Trio thinks I'm dead, the cowboy wielder isn't here, and no one else cares enough to harm me. Still, I've always had the certainty of my magic to fall back on, and I don't have that now. I don't dare reach for my powers yet, not when my hold on life itself was so recently re-established. So I wait, a ragged scrap of soul pasted to flesh by the sheer force of my own will—a will that only held out because Ryden was there, wanting me to live.