Bad Blood Panther (Bad Blood Shifters Book 4)

by Anastasia Wilde

  Chapter 6

  Xander felt like he was coming out of a long, dark tunnel. After being run over by a train.

  That happened way too often, after a wild night of panthermania.

  Sometimes he could be perfectly normal and rational in cat form, if you didn’t count the urge to hunt small furry creatures and drop the bloody carcasses on people’s doormats. He could play-fight with his crew, lounge around in his favorite tree, even take cage-fighting lessons from Jaz and Brody.

  And through all that, he was Xandercat—right there inside the panther brain the whole time, being all assholey and shit. His normal self.

  But other times…

  Other times the cat just took the hell over. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and he didn’t even know what his cat was doing. Only that it wasn’t good, and usually had something to do with being rageaholic and trying to kill people.

  That was the part that would have convinced any other alpha but Flynn to put him down already.

  And now he’d done it again. Just when he thought he was going to be able to keep it together for more than a few days, he’d had a full-on kitty blackout. The last thing he remembered was trying to bite someone in the neck…

  Fuck. Jenny.

  He sat bolt upright, panting, sick fear running through him.

  It was still night, and he was in his own bed. There were bits of straw in his hair, which meant he’d been in the crazy shed.

  Hopefully they’d chucked him in there before he hurt Jenny.

  He got up, not even remembering to put clothes on, and raced through the trailer butt-nekkid. The living room was empty—none of his crew sleeping on the couch to make sure he didn’t go postal in the night.

  That was different—usually they kept a better watch on him.

  Then he checked the spare room—and stopped in his tracks. Jenny was asleep in there.

  Somebody had made up the futon he’d salvaged off the side of the road, in his aborted quest to make the tiny second bedroom into a den or some shit. Lissa, probably, judging by the pink-butterfly sheets. That woman had an obsession with pink. It was barf-inducing.

  But Jenny…

  She was curled on her side, her wavy black hair spread out over the pillow, long lashes resting on a cheek flushed with sleep. She looked soft and vulnerable and pretty. He’d never realized just how pretty she was, all the time they were friends.

  Now all he could see was the way the covers curved over her hips and dipped at her waist, and the way the tank top she wore was pulled to the side, showing an expanse of creamy-skinned breast.

  Xander’s cat gave a little mrrrow inside him, and Xander felt the overwhelming desire to crawl under the covers, snuggle up behind her, cup his hand around her boob and kiss the back of her neck until she woke up and made sexy noises.

  A wave of longing swept through him, and his dick tightened.

  Oh fuck no.

  Xander backed out of the doorway, all the way into the living room. No, no no no. He was not going to let his wonky-ass cat go crazy over Jenny, just because it wanted a mate like everybody else had. She had always been just his friend—someone he could talk to, grab some beers with, take a drive and tell each other their hopes and dreams.

  Hopes and dreams. That was a laugh. The dreams he’d told Jenny, lying back on the hood of his truck looking up at the stars—those were never coming true. Not now.

  Jenny had introduced him to Cindi, and Cindi wrecked his life.

  And Jenny had been a panther the whole damn time, keeping the most important part of herself hidden away from him. After Cindi Turned him, he’d figured Jenny knew all along what was going down.

  So what the fuck was she doing here now? Why had she come to him, of all people? After all this time?

  Sweet pretty help love care mate lick fuck mrrrow, said his cat.

  Dammit.

  He felt himself being pulled back towards the doorway like Jenny was a goddamn magnet. He was breathing faster, and his skin itched like it was too small, and his chest felt hot and he was two seconds from going in there, diving under the covers and groping her in her sleep, which would add “evil sex fiend” to “homicidal maniac” on his resume.

  Enough of that shit. He was not standing naked in her doorway with a boner, watching her sleep. That was not cool at all. He might be an asshole, and insane, but he was still one notch above sexual assault and pervy naked peeping. He better go kill something instead.

  He glanced out the living-room window. It was the middle of the night, and all the tasty nocturnal panther snacks would still be wandering the forest. Hunting would settle his cat—and make him forget about how sweet and lickable Jenny was looking.

  He went quietly outside. Even when he Changed, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenny. Wanting to see her cat, to see if she was as pretty as a panther as she was as a human.

  His cat gave another one of those mrrrow noises, this time out loud. Before he could stop himself, he padded onto the porch and put his paws up on the windowsill of her room, looking inside.

  With his cat vision, he could see her clearly. Pretty. Soft. Bring her food.

  Huh. That was the most sense his cat had ever made. Well, not really. Bringing Jenny dead animals was stupid. But at least it was a complete sentence.

  He pulled himself away from the window and ghosted through the woods, following scents. Hunting made him feel less edgy, but as he ran through the forest, he slipped more and more into panther thoughts. Wondering what animals Jenny’s panther liked to hunt. What tasted good to her. How to make her happy.

  Right. As if he could make anyone happy.

  Then he caught the scent of a fat rabbit.

  Mmm. Rabbits usually weren’t out at night. He let his cat have him, trailing his prey, pouncing and snapping its neck.

  Without thinking, he picked up the dead rabbit in his mouth and carried it back to the trailer. He laid his offering carefully under her window. Brought food. Mates like food.

  And then he went off to find something else to hunt, something to assuage the longing for blood.

  Jenny stood at the window, watching Xander’s lithe panther form disappear into the woods as silently as he came.

  She didn’t know how much of him was in there, when his cat was out. The rest of the crew had told her it varied—sometimes he knew exactly what he was doing, and sometimes it seemed like Xander wasn’t there at all.

  But he’d brought her a gift. He’d hunted for her, and brought his kill to lay at her feet.

  Tears prickled her eyes. She didn’t know if he’d remember what he’d done, but somewhere inside him, his cat felt the bond.

  Mate.

  She leaned her head against the glass of the window, feeling it hard and cool against her face. Sloan’s words reverberated in her mind.

  She’s his mate.

  This was the last thing she’d expected. The most she’d hoped for—the most she’d wanted—was for Xander to take her and Brandon under his protection and advocate for them with his alpha, so they could join the Bad Blood Crew and be safe from Alton and the Broken Hill Clan.

  She’d hoped he’d help find them a place to live, provide for them until she could get some kind of job so she wouldn’t have to be completely dependent on him.

  That he’d maybe even try to be a father to Brandon, if he wasn’t too dangerous—and if he gave a shit about his son.

  But a fated mating—this bone-deep knowledge that they belonged together—no. It would be messy and emotional and complicated—all the things she’d promised herself this wouldn’t be. Sure, she’d dreamed about bonding with him way back when. But it all seemed so romantic then—before he Turned and lost his mind.

  What if Xander resisted the bond? What if he was too damaged to surrender to it?

  What if he was too out of control? What would she do then? How could she bring Brandon here if it wasn’t safe?

  But how could she leave Xander now? Losing his fated mate could
drive his already damaged animal over the edge. Flynn might even have to put him down.

  Her heart felt like it was being torn in two.

  She opened the window and raised the screen. The smell of blood, a fresh kill, was thick in the air.

  If a male panther brought a female a kill, and she refused or ignored it, it meant she was rejecting him as a mate. But if she accepted him, she would eat some of what he provided.

  Jenny tried to use her head, to be rational, to make a smart decision for her and Brandon.

  But it didn’t work. She shed her clothes and climbed out the window, slipping into her panther skin. The rabbit smelled delicious—fresh and succulent.

  She tore into it, savoring the kill. It tasted even better because it was a gift from her mate.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Jenny was awakened by Xander bounding into the room and plonking himself down next to her on the futon. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, all that silky black hair spilling over his collar, looking hot as sin and smelling so good she just wanted to sink her teeth into him.

  Help. No. That would be humiliating, especially since she didn’t know if he remembered anything about last night.

  He bounced up and down, and she rolled over, groaning. She was not a morning person, and she hadn’t gotten much sleep. Even extreme hotness didn’t cancel out disgustingly chipper morning ‘tude.

  “Can you stop that?” she muttered. “It’s like being woken up by a two-year-old.” She should know.

  “Yeah, but you should get up,” he said, sounding more like the Alex she remembered, except for the extra I-give-zero-fucks-about-everything edge to his tone. “You’re boring when you’re sleeping. And the early bird gets the worm.” He nudged her legs, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. “Wanna see my worm?”

  “Eeeuw,” she said, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. “FYI, worm image equals utterly unsexy. And I don’t want to see anybody’s worm until I’ve had my coffee.”

  Lie. Just looking at the way his t-shirt clung to his chest muscles made her insides turn into jelly, and she did want to see his…well. She sure as shit wasn’t calling it a worm.

  “Whoa, wait.” Xander looked shocked. “Coffee first? Does that mean you don’t do wake-up sex?” He shook his head. “Pity the fool who gets with you, and ends up stumping around with his morning wood, and nothing but the shower and Mr. Hand to satisfy himself with. You should rethink that.”

  She already was. Thinking about waking up with Xander, snuggling back against those washboard abs, feeling his hands slide around her breasts and between her legs, his morning wood all hard and sexy…

  “You better get up,” he said, poking her legs. “Talking about morning wood and knowing you’re under there with hardly anything on is making me hot.”

  Um, she’d forgotten why that was bad.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up and pulling on her hand. She tumbled forward on her knees, her oversized tank top bunched around her waist, her red-satin-panty-clad butt waving in the breeze.

  She scrambled to her feet, totally embarrassed, and pulled her top down to cover her butt. “Dude,” she said. “Quit manhandling me.”

  “I’m panther-handling you,” he said. “Ooh. Panhandling for short. Make a note of that. And I like the hot red panties. Rrrr.” He growled.

  Damn, that growl was sexy. He was always too damn sexy for his own good. Or her good, maybe. She smacked his arm. “No looking at my panties.” Unless he was going to do something about it… No. Wait. Not until they’d at least talked.

  “You’re no fun,” he said. “You—” He caught sight of the half-healed gouges on her arm and sucked in his breath. Doing one of his lightning-fast mood changes, he caught her wrist, holding it gently, and turned her arm so he could see the wounds.

  “Shit,” he said in a low voice. “Did I do that?”

  “It’s okay.” She didn’t want him to make a fuss. She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “It’s—fuck.” He scrubbed his other hand through his hair. “It’s not okay.”

  Not if they were mates. Was that what he was feeling? She had to know.

  “You fight the women in your crew, don’t you?” she asked. “And sometimes you bleed them?”

  A tiny frown appeared in the middle of Xander’s forehead. “Well, yeah. Lissa’s bear is new, and she has a short temper. And Jaz—” He half-smiled. “Jaz is a brawler, for sure.”

  “So why is this different?” She held her breath, both hoping and fearing he’d realize why.

  The frown returned. “I don’t know.” He ran his fingers lightly up the wounds, and she shivered at his touch. “It just feels…wrong. Maybe because I knew you as a human. Back in the day when I didn’t fight girls. Or claw their faces off.”

  Back when he felt like a man, she realized. Not a crazy monster. Her heart ached for him.

  He raised his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Wow. That was not like the Alex she’d known. He’d always had trouble apologizing.

  But she could tell he meant it. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Sometimes me and my cat are occupying the same headspace, and sometimes—boom. He kicks me out and runs amok. It sucks.” He touched her wounds again, very gently. “For everybody.”

  He lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed the half-healed gouges. “To make it better,” he said.

  Their eyes locked, and once again time stood still. Jenny didn’t know what to say or do, only that she didn’t want him to let go of her.

  “You should get a shower,” he said finally, stepping back and dropping her hand. “Flynn’s making pancakes up in the main cabin. You haven’t fucking lived until you’ve eaten Flynn’s pancakes. It was almost worth becoming a shifter, just for that.”

  He headed for the door. “Bathroom’s down past the kitchen. I think I might have a clean towel, but don’t get excited until I’m sure.”

  He stopped at the doorway and turned back, his eyes dark and troubled. “Look, you should know right now. I’m not a good guy. Everything that happened, it changed me. I hate everything, and I offend everybody and piss them off, and I like doing it. You said you needed help, and I’ll try to help you. But don’t expect a lot from me. You’ll just be disappointed.”

  While Jenny was in the shower, Xander wandered out onto the porch. There was something dead under the spare room window.

  Xander went over and stared at it, his eyes narrowed. “Sloan!” he bellowed. “Sloan!”

  It took a couple minutes, but finally Sloan stumbled out of his trailer, wearing nothing but boxers and shielding his eyes against the sun.

  “What?” he said, looking around for threats. “You okay?”

  “What the fuck is a chewed-up dead rabbit doing on my porch?”

  “Seriously? You pulled me away from morning sex for this?” Sloan blew out a sigh. “You put it there, dickhead.”

  He did? No.

  “I did not,” Xander said. “For one thing, why would I prank myself? And for two things, I would have at least put glitter on it.”

  Sloan had managed to pry his eyes all the way open, and was now looking at Xander in a weirdness-inducing way.

  “Your panther did it,” he said. “At zero-fucking-dark-thirty this morning, FYI. Yes, since you ask, I was up, making sure you didn’t murder anyone. And you’re welcome.”

  “Thanks,” Xander said absently. He knelt down and studied the rabbit. It was right under Jenny’s window. He remembered…he remembered his panther wanting to give her something. Wanting to please her, make her happy.

  He rose slowly and looked at Sloan, bits and pieces of memory from the night before swirling in his mind, making a picture he didn’t want to see. “Why would my panther do that?” he asked. His throat was so tight he could barely get the words out.

  Sloan came over and stood below on the ground, rubbing his fing
ers on the porch railing, rolling a splinter between his fingers. “It’s a mating ritual,” he said finally. “Your panther…”

  The silence stretched out.

  “Wants her for a mate,” Xander finished in a whisper. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

  Sloan nodded. “Looks like.” He looked up at Xander. “Is she the one?”

  Xander leaned against the wall, his knees almost buckling. For months, ever since the other Bad Bloods had started finding mates, his cat had been yammering on about how they’d had a mate, but they lost her.

  He hadn’t listened. He’d thought the damn panther meant Cindi, and he’d shut that shit down, marked it “Biohazard,” and locked it away in one of those places in his head he never intended to go again.

  But Jenny…

  Shit.

  “I need some glitter,” he said abruptly. “Go back to your orgasm. Give Caitlyn an extra one from me.”

  He started back into the house.

  “You okay?” Sloan asked, clearly worried.

  “Nope,” Xander called back. “But then, when am I ever?”

  Chapter 8

  When Jenny emerged from the trailer, freshly showered and dressed, she found Xander kneeling by the dead rabbit, sprinkling glitter over it from a baggie.

  Ooookay.

  Part of being idiotically shy meant she didn’t like to question people—especially people with short tempers—but she had to know. “Um, can I ask why you’re glittering that?”

  He didn’t look up. “It’s what I do when I prank people with dead shit.” His voice had the same zero-fucks-given tone it had this morning, when he’d been razzing her in the bedroom. The tone he used when he wanted to keep people at a distance.

  Her heart sank a little. “So…this was just a prank?” She was so stupid. It wasn’t a mating gift. Xander didn’t even know panther traditions.

  “Sure.” He rose to his feet, dusting glitter off his hand onto his jeans. “I’m just a big ol’ prankster. Better get used to—”