by AJ Hampton
Closing her eyes, her numbed and burning fingers pulled on the handle. The only thing that greeted her was the rich, familiar scent of Greg lingering on upholstery. She’d grieve again the first day his cherished scent no longer welcomed her. Her one second of comfort shattered the moment she sat down. Sitting down hurt her ass in a pleasurable-painful kind of way. Damn Peter No Last Name for making sure she would remember his claiming.
Wresting the keys into the ignition with frozen fingers, it took her two attempts to start the truck. The engine roared to life, streams of icy air pouring from the vents. She shivered, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel to wait out the cold.
Mistake. The throb in her head turned into a full-blown headache. An unwanted image of Peter flashed into her mind and she tried to shove the picture away. She was too raw from Greg’s death, too confused by the intimacy she and Peter had shared during their shower.
“I need you.”
She shook her head, found it impossible to dislodge her stranger. Jesus, even from a distance his arrogance prevailed. All over again she felt his hot, wet mouth. The stroke of his tongue. At the memory, a shiver ran down her spine. Her sex clenched in needy anticipation. God, the way he’d kissed her had been like a man starving. Desperate. Like a man allowed to glimpse salvation for the briefest of moments.
His husky, sex-drugged voice stole through her head once more: “Please.”
Without meaning to, her hand rose to her kiss-swollen lips. Slowly, softly, she drew her finger back and forth.
A pounding, three-beat knock rapped against her side window. Her fantasy crashed. Burned. Eva’s scream was loud and long. She barely heard the piercing wail over her thunderous heart. The knock came again, more urgently this time, and she forced her breathing to even. Who else was out in this weather?
Using the sleeve of her coat, she cleared the fogged window and peered out. Her relief at seeing the familiar face was palpable. And short-lived. She’d have welcomed anyone except Detective Grady Keller, the one man who’d know on sight she’d been fucked every way possible. The man who thought taking her virginity gave him permanent rights to her body.
Swallowing, she beat back the encroaching guilt. Would Grady know how many times? How many different ways? Would he know she’d allowed Peter to fuck her without a condom? He stood outside her door, his every exhale sending visible puffs of air from his mouth and red-tipped nose. Concern deepened the handsome angles of his face. A scraggy beard, the same dark brown shade as his eyes, protected his cheeks and chin from the frost. The coarse stubble invited a woman’s hand to run through it.
Dang. He sure hadn’t had that much facial hair when they’d dated in high school. The heavy, fur-lined jacket he wore made his shoulders wider and his chest thicker than she knew them to be. She pressed the button on the control panel, counted the seconds while the window whirred down. Any warmth the truck had managed to gain disappeared.
“Detective, what can I do for you?” Her voice was husky and raw from screaming. That was a lie. The rasp was from having Peter’s cock shoved so far down her throat.
Grady knew. Recognized the unmistakable aftermath of the kind of oral sex she liked to give. His left eye twitched. He stepped close. The squeak of boots on snow raised the hair on her arms. One gloved hand and then the other gripped the window frame, pulled him inside the truck. The bulk of his massive six-foot-four frame blocked her closest exit.
He scanned the inside of her vehicle before turning his hot gaze on her. “Eva.”
Her cheeks flushed. She fought the impulse to press her fingers against her swollen lips. Oh, she knew without looking that she had a freshly fucked and sated appearance about her. Grady would know. He’d seen that look on her himself too many times to count.
“What do you want?” She forced the words between chattering teeth.
His gaze moved over her lips, down the line of her throat to where, no doubt, she had a couple of love bites. Self-consciously she shifted and her coat gapped open, revealing the day-old dress beneath it. Well, hell. Even though a beard covered his face, she didn’t miss the tightening of his jaw or the thinning of his lips.
He stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest. “Ms. Marx, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”
So, it was Ms. Marx now. “Come on, Grady, you can’t be serious. It’s cold out there. Why don’t you get in?”
“Out of the truck, Eva.”
“Why?” There wasn’t a single reasonable explanation she could think of.
“Because I’m an officer of the law and I’m telling you to step out of the truck.”
They stared at each other for a full minute before she caved. “Fine,” she snapped.
Glaring, she threw open the door. If the swinging metal hit him in the balls, well, that was his problem for standing too close. She stepped into the cold and, mirroring his position, crossed her arms over her chest. Around them, snow fell silently.
“You’ve been drinking,” he stated.
She knew what his tone meant. They’d dated on and off for the last dozen years. He’d taken her virginity. He’d asked her to marry him. Six times.
Her jaw tensed. “Yes. Last night after the funeral, I had a couple of drinks. Is that a crime? No. It isn’t. I’m getting back in the truck.”
“I heard you’ve got a new boyfriend. Where’s the asshole now?”
She cringed. Peter was probably half way back to Montana, not that she was going to tell him that. She lifted her chin. “I’m not his keeper.”
“Just his fuck buddy? Must be a real gentleman to let you walk alone, in the dark, with a murderer on the loose.” His words held an edge of accusation. It was the way his eyes darkened and then narrowed. His full, once very kissable lips pinched into an invisible line.
She’d never seen him like this before. He never lost his cool or his temper. Even sex between them had been sweet and tender. Grady was a consummate lover, slow and thorough. He’d handled her like glass, surely terrified of bringing her home with bruises. No one risked the wrath of Gregory Marx, not even the Sheriff’s son.
Peter’s hard pounding from the night before stormed through her mind, obliterating Grady from her memory as if he’d never been there. Peter was right, she’d had no idea just how much she’d come to hate him in the morning.
The simmering anger boiled over. She lashed out. “I suppose it is too much to ask for some privacy, too much to ask that what I do isn’t topic for town gossip.”
“You mean who you do?” he shot back. “When the town sweetheart leaves the bar with an outsider, it’s news. Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you? God damn it, Eva, I can’t believe you let him fuck you. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open before snapping shut. “What’s wrong with me?” She closed the distance between them and shoved her finger against the muscular wall of his chest. “You are way out of line, Trooper. I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”
He caught her wrist before she could poke him again. Grady pulled her close, his insistence chilling her more than the bitter wind swirling around her bare legs. She pulled back, meant to dig her heels into the snow, but her boots found ice, slick and unpredictable. Down. She was going down.
Her arms flailed, reaching for something, anything to keep her head from bashing the frozen ground. His fist shot out, smashed against her cheek. The resounding crack split the air and shattered her confidence that she knew him at all. Reeling back, she clutched the throbbing flesh already swollen beneath her cold hand. Through the instant tears, she stared at him.
Had he hit her on purpose? Surely not. Grady had never been violent, never lifted a hand to her. He’d been her only true friend outside of Greg. Hell, he’d never even raised his voice. Until now. He’d hit her with a fist. Not an open hand. You didn’t use a fist to help someone. He was already jealous of Peter. Had he been angry she’d pulled away?
> Emotion filled Grady’s eyes, dark and murky, nothing she could interpret. He stepped forward, opened his mouth. “Shit, Eva, I’m—”
He never finished. From behind her, a low growl rolled through the air and crept up the back of her spine. Her hammering heart came to a complete stop. She knew that sound better than most. Pissed off leopard. If James had seen Grady hit her, the detective’s life was forfeit.
Fear blanched Grady’s face and shut his mouth. Panic filled his eyes. Slowly letting her hand fall to her side, Eva turned. She braced herself to find her uncle in the form of a one-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound leopard.
She sucked in a breath at the sight before her. Not her uncle.
Rage danced in the approaching feline’s emerald depths, showed in the bared canines and ears pressed flat to his head. The leopard stalked forward, shoulder blades rising and falling in time with every lethal step.
Peter.
She released a soft gasp, and with it, the world faded. Never in all her life had she seen anything so magnificent. Sleek and powerful, dozens of black-on-brown ringed spots covered his snow-white coat. She wanted to sink her fingers into his pelt, push through the hard outer layer to experience the downy soft fur next to the skin.
Peter hissed. The sound forced her one involuntary step backward. He strode closer, his large paws easily traversing the snow even with his two hundred and fifty pounds of pure power. With every graceful step, sinewy muscles shifted. Behind him, his long, thick tail slashed back and forth.
“Back in your truck,” Grady demanded, pulling her behind him.
A vicious snarl echoed and Peter crouched low. His nose wrinkled, narrowing his feline eyes. Eva stared straight ahead, mesmerized by the feral beauty of the predator in front of her.
“God damn it!” Grady hissed. “Get. In. The. Truck.” With a hand on her shoulder, he shoved her in the direction of her vehicle.
Mistake.
Peter lunged. In the sunless morning, the twin points of the leopard’s canines aimed at Grady’s throat gleamed.
Chapter Six
Idiotic Pard Rule #1: Never show yourself to humans. Well, fuck the God damned rules. Any man stupid enough to touch what didn’t belong to him deserved what he got. The cop Eva called Grady would learn what a leopard could do to an asshole who pissed in the wrong pool.
He was just about to jump in when the motherfucker hit her. He actually hit her.
Eva’s cry of pain echoed, ripping through his meager self-control. A rage unlike any he’d ever experienced drove him from the shadows. Muscles clenched. Saliva pooled in his open mouth. He could already taste the man’s blood.
With coiled strength, he lunged at his target.
“Don’t,” Eva screamed. “You’ll hurt him!” Raw panic in her voice touched something deep inside him.
Fear poured off her, its stench a rancid sting on the back of his tongue. Did she think he would hurt her? Her gaze darted between him and the other man, shifted back to him. No. She was afraid for the cop. Would she try to save the asshole by putting herself in the line of fire? Uncertainty drew him back at the last moment. He stopped two feet short of slashing the man’s stomach wide open.
An unsatisfied rumble emanated from the depths of his chest. The feral rage stole his every thought and his ears flattened against his head. His nose wrinkled in fury, sending a clear message. Back the fuck off. The cop’s jaw dropped. On the verge of pacing, he swished his tail back and forth, waiting for a chance to release his anger.
Blood. He wanted the man’s salty life force surging into his mouth.
Eva drew in several deep breaths, each exhale coming with a cloud of moisture. The cold reddened her cheeks and chapped her lips. With no hat or gloves, Eva’s teeth chattered with each tremor of cold stealing through her. Goose bumps pebbled her exposed legs. She was freezing.
The instinct to warm her warred with the urge to rip the other man to pieces. Already the left side of her bruised face swelled and darkened. Another furious growl escaped. The man would die. He advanced a step, stopped only at the sound of Eva’s voice.
“Don’t,” she warned, speaking to him as if he were human. Her lips clamped shut. Pard Rule #2, don’t talk to wild animals as if they understood what you were talking about. Licking her lips, she lowered her voice. “Grady, don’t make any sudden movements.”
Eva stepped away from the truck and moved in front of the cop. One inch at a time, her chin lifted. Was she challenging him? He snarled, narrowing his eyes further until the only thing he could see was her. Wind blew golden curls in front of her eyes. Snow drifted down, swirling around her and clinging to her black coat.
Mate. He inhaled her scent, tasted honey and sunshine. Something else lingered on her skin. His scent. His seed deep inside her body. Yes. She belonged to him and only him. Satisfaction filled his predatory soul. Mine.
From the corner of his eye, he scrutinized Grady, assessing the best way to get rid of him.
The man glanced nervously between them. “Eva, you’re the animal expert, how the hell do we keep it from eating us? It looks pissed off.”
A flash of movement set Peter’s teeth in a snarl. He hissed. The cop’s hand froze an inch from the gun holstered at his waist. The same unspoken laws that demanded the leopard stay concealed kept the cop from shooting him. A not-so-idiotic Pard Rule. The majestic snow leopards residing in the snow-laden forests of Bellows Falls were the town’s only pride. To kill one would ignite the wrath of the community.
Eva glared at Grady and a tang of anger replaced her fear. Pride swelled inside him. “First off,” she said. “He isn’t an it. Second, if we both just get into our trucks, he’ll go away. Isn’t that right, kitty?”
Another low sound rumbled from his chest. She wouldn’t be calling him kitty again until she was on all fours with his teeth sunk into the back of her neck.
Grady stepped closer, reached his hand out as if to touch her. “I’m not leaving you alone with that thing.”
Dropping into a crouch, he flattened his ears and hissed. One more fucking move and the asshole was dinner.
“I think it’s you he has a problem with,” Eva said. “You’re the one making him mad.”
Like a good boy, the cop lowered his hand and reversed tracks. Grady took a testing step away from Eva and the leopard advanced as if to encourage the retreat. The cop nodded, understanding, and took two more steps toward his police truck parked a few feet away. Another step. Some of the tension loosened inside him and he rose to pace. He wouldn’t kill the man, not in front of Eva, but Grady would pay. No one hurt his mate and lived.
Keen, hungry eyes watched the cop fumble with his door before climbing inside. Peter never looked away, not until the asshole was gone. He glanced back to where Eva had stood, found she’d already pulled her truck out of the parking lot.
Satisfied, he sent one last scathing look at Grady’s retreating taillights and took off through the woods surrounding the town. He wasn’t done with Eva. Not by a long shot.
He sprinted, leaping over fallen trees and traversing the freshly fallen snow with ease. A churning river kept him company through the woods. Icy water cascaded over rocks, into miniature waterfalls, the river’s noise a comforting rush in the winter silence. The unique scents of home soothed the leopard, and he traversed a familiar path he’d taken countless times growing up.
Cutting through a cluster of trees, he broke through a tangle of limbs and found the cut-off to the highway. He waited no more than two minutes before two beams of light cut through the swirling snow. He stood in the middle of the road, met Eva’s gaze through the windshield and dared her to hit him.
The truck screeched to a stop. He strolled forward with the smooth, rolling gait of a feline, and then brought the image of himself on two legs to the center of his attention. Willing the transformation, he forced the beast to retreat, the shift seamless. One second thick fur warmed him. In the next arctic wind tore at his naked skin and burned the soles of
his feet.
He padded barefoot to the driver’s side, and all but ripped open the door. The cold temperature did nothing to ease his burning anger. A pungent smell socked him in the stomach, catching him off-guard. Greg’s scent invaded and he fought to keep from backing away. Silent, wary, Eva stared at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. The bruise on the side of her face startled, was a potent reminder of just how much danger she was in.
“I’m driving,” he growled, reaching behind the seat for the clothes he knew Greg kept stashed there.
Without protest, she slid across the wide bench seat and settled into the passenger side. He threaded first one arm and then the other through a one-size-too-small flannel shirt. His father’s scent wrapped around him, threatening the beast and comforting the man. Stepping into jeans that were just an inch too short, Peter climbed into the warm truck and slammed the door. He slid the seat back until his knees no longer touched the steering wheel.
As he drove, an uneasy silence fed his festering anger. For the first time since entering the truck, he looked at Eva. Her eyes were still wide, still unfocused.
“You’re afraid of me.”
“The leopard still lurks in your eyes,” she said, her voice raspy and raw.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and left his knuckles white. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
Her laughter filled the truck. Some of her fear abated. “Last night. Yes.” She turned her body toward his. “The note was a nice touch.”
It was more than he’d ever done for any other woman he’d left in the middle of the night. He squeezed the steering wheel, heard something crack. “You’ve got an hour to pack your crap, and then we’re heading to Montana.”
She whipped her head in his direction. “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t stutter. Greg’s gone, what else do you have in this God forsaken town? It’s a shit hole, and you know it.”
