When A Lioness Growls (A Lion's Pride Book 7)

by Eve Langlais

  No hiding his lust anymore. He wanted her. She wanted him, which meant no way was she stopping.

  Her hands gripped the wide strength of his shoulders, feeling the firm flesh. Their tongues danced together, sucking and sliding, while he palmed her ass, grinding her against him.

  The frenzy in her built at the friction between their bodies. His lips halted their plunder and trailed across her jaw to her neck. He licked and sucked at her flesh, drawing a moan from her. A shudder clenched her sex as her excitement spiraled.

  Down went his lips, blazing a path to the plunging neckline of her nightie. A nudge of his mouth moved the fabric over, baring a rosy tip. He sucked it, drawing it into his mouth, teasing the erect bud with his lips and teeth.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Suck it.”

  He did. He sucked hard at her nipple, pulling it into a point before moving his attention to the other breast. He lavished it with attention, licking and sucking at her flesh, while she squirmed in his lap.

  The heat in her boiled, molten desire racing through her veins. Awareness enhancing every touch, moan, and caress.

  His lips left her breasts to once again capture her mouth, a hot and fiery embrace that saw her digging her fingers into his hair, tugging at it.

  She bounced on his lap, excited. Close to the edge. Needing only a slight push to go over. He once again let his mouth wander, across her jawline to the lobe of her ear. He swirled the shell, and she sighed.

  “More,” she moaned.

  His lips traveled down and paused at her racing pulse. He nipped her neck, sharp enough that she let out a sound.

  “That’s it, bite me. Bite me hard.”

  Mark me. Take me.

  Instead, he dumped her on the couch and fled faster than she could blink. Fled through the door separating their rooms, shutting it behind him. Odd.

  Did he run to fetch a condom?

  Click.

  Surely that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he had to pee and didn’t want her walking in.

  She waited.

  Waited some more.

  But he didn’t return.

  Well damn. She’d never had a guy run out on her before. Now what? Her sex throbbed. All of her ached with unrelieved passion.

  Should I go after him?

  And beg he do something about the fire he’d ignited in her body?

  Me, beg a man? Not likely.

  Only one thing to do when a body screamed for relief and she was too proud to let her fingers do the walking.

  Clear night. Hot breeze. Lots of nice smells.

  She stripped before stepping out onto the balcony.

  Chapter Ten

  The moment JF stepped into his room, escaping temptation, he locked the door. Then stared at it, knowing that only a flimsy portal stood between him and her.

  The woman who, only moments ago, had made him forget himself.

  Even now, he could still remember the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her in his mouth. The way she melted at his caresses and demanded more.

  Why aren’t I giving her what she wants?

  Because he’d almost lost control.

  He raked fingers through his hair and whirled from the door. He paced the room, every inch of him pulsing, the blood thundering through his veins, molten hot, heating his usually cool skin.

  His teeth had pushed from his gums, long and sharp, so sharp he’d nicked her skin. Just a tiny little cut, enough for him to taste a drop.

  One. Tiny. Drop.

  Just a hint. He’d almost lost his mind.

  Almost sank his teeth into her, ready to suck and gulp and drink of her until this ravenous hunger subsided. If she hadn’t made a sound, he might have, might have lost control, and then what would have happened?

  Pure fucking bliss.

  Thankfully, he’d snapped out of it before he did something regrettable and fled.

  Fled like a yellow-bellied coward, his insidious mind claimed.

  No, like a man who wanted to live another day. If JF lost control and tore out her throat, he might as well slit his own. Between Gaston, his master, and Arik, the lion king, his life wouldn’t be worth shit.

  Who says you would have killed her? Drinking could be done without damage. A pair of pinprick holes that acted as a straw in a body. But the rules were clear. No eating from shifters, not without permission.

  Then there was his personal rule. Don’t get involved with shifters. Ever.

  The last time hadn’t turned out well for him.

  How long will I continue to use that one experience as an excuse?

  Yes, Sasha turned out to not be who she said. Or what she said. At the time, a mere human, JF had not understood there were other things, hidden things in the world. He’d fallen for the golden-haired girl. A woman who, much like Stacey, ignited his passion. What he didn’t expect was that the bubbly exterior hid a monster. A lioness, but one that enjoyed killing for sport.

  A seductress who enticed men, human men, into meeting with her, falling for her, so that when she finally changed into her feline beast and struck, they had no defense.

  No protection against slashing claws.

  No shield against her teeth.

  He should have died that night. Would have if Gaston hadn’t found him, led to JF’s bleeding body by the ghost of another victim.

  How well JF still remembered the feel and taste of the blood bubbling at his lips, the coldness settling into his bones. The lack of feeling anywhere. Surely with his body ripped open, he should feel something?

  Gaston’s eyes had peered into his, serious and, at the same time, full of compassion. He asked him one question, “Do you want to live, no matter the price, that you might avenge yourself and the others who’ve suffered the same fate?”

  Yes. He never knew if he thought the word or if it bubbled past his lips.

  It didn’t matter. The next time he awoke, he was something new. Different. Stronger.

  Inhuman.

  He was whampyr, and he got his revenge.

  But revenge had never cured his dislike of shifters. Never helped him get over the betrayal of someone he’d thought cared for him.

  With years of retrospect under his belt, JF now understood Sasha had played him the entire time, but that was little consolation and didn’t help his trust issues with the opposite sex.

  They couldn’t be trusted.

  Ever.

  Even if they tasted good. Especially if they tasted good. Would he remember that it was Stacey in the throes of passion, or would he fall back into that darker nightmare, the one where he woke with blood on his lips and the body of the one who’d betrayed him dead in his arms?

  He feared finding out. That, more than his trust issues, was why he’d fled Stacey. Why he locked the door. Why he ignored the throbbing need in his body.

  Stripping without care for buttons or folding, or even wrinkles, he dropped his clothes to the floor and fled to the washroom. He thrust his feverish body into the shower and turned on the water. Cold only, yet the tepid spray that emerged did nothing to cool his skin. Nothing to tame his simmering ardor.

  She tasted so perfect. Felt so right.

  The primal part of him wondered why he didn’t go back and claim her. Sex was sex. She offered it. He wanted it. Where was the harm? Even if he couldn’t drink her as he wanted to, he could still sink into her velvety depths. Plunge his cock so deep he’d imprint her from the inside.

  Fucking madness.

  One did not fuck those they’d been sent to guard.

  One should never forget she was a shifter. He’d long been taught since his rebirth that they were beneath his kind.

  So why can’t she be beneath me in bed?

  Because.

  Just fucking because.

  If he had a need, then his hand could take care of it. With that thought in mind, he closed his eyes against the spray and fisted his throbbing cock. Wrapped his fingers tight around it and began to stroke himself. He knew his body, knew h
ow much pressure to apply to the velvet-covered steel length of his shaft. Knew how fast to pump it back and forth.

  What he didn’t know was why he pictured her, the fiery-haired vixen, her eyes at half-mast, her lips parted. How beautiful she’d look on her knees, lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him. Taking him into her mouth and pleasuring him.

  Would he let himself come on her lips, or would he then turn her around and have her present that delectable ass? An ass meant for grabbing as a man fucked her from behind, plunging deep into her velvety folds, thrusting and pumping and…

  With a grunt, his cum shot from his cock, and he opened his eyes to see the cold sterile tile of the shower and not her soft expression.

  Even worse, he might have shot his load, but his cock remained partially erect. He still wanted her.

  Fuck.

  He stepped out of the large tiled stall and remained nude, the moisture on his skin pearling, the marks on his body barely visible, silver lines etched into every part of his skin, from his neck down to the soles of his feet. Even his scalp had them. Only his face remained untouched—all the better to walk among the humans unnoticed.

  The air conditioning unit chugged along, pushing cold air into the room, enough that, when he stood in front of it, he could feel some of his temperature dropping.

  Deep breaths. Eyes shut. Mind blanked. Calmness settled over him.

  Until he heard a lion roar, loud and angry.

  Then a yowling yelp.

  Surely it’s not her.

  His gaze flicked to the wall separating their rooms.

  Don’t tell me she’s that stupid.

  Yeah, she was.

  He didn’t even take time to throw on clothes, just some boxers, before he shoved open the door between their rooms, and it took only one quick glance to know she’d gone out. The dress on the floor and the open sliding glass doors made that clear. He raced to the door and stepped onto her balcony. The empty balcony that smelled of fresh cat.

  I’m going to skin her and make her into furry mittens. Once he found her.

  This side of the building had more privacy than some of the others on the resort given it sat on the edge of the jungle. The same jungle that belonged to the conservation land surrounding the volcano. The thick forest boasted tall trees, all of them too far to touch from the balcony, but not far enough for a leap by something agile. Say like a lion.

  A part of him was tempted to go back to his room and ignore whatever plight she’d managed to get into. Given her magnetic ability to draw trouble, who knew what she’d run into? Probably another spider. With her princess airs, she might have even simply broken a nail.

  Or she’d stumbled into something serious. This wasn’t a tamed park of the city. This was a true wilderness with all kinds of peril. Even for a lioness.

  Goddamn it. Someone needs to put a leash on that woman.

  He launched himself into the air, the change happening quickly, his wings popping free from his back, lightening the bulky part of his body, allowing him to soar high. The change came easily to him now, but it wasn’t always like that.

  He still remembered the first time he’d transformed, the shock as those monstrous-sized things emerged from his body.

  “Where did those come from?” he’d cried at the time.

  “They’re a part of you now,” was the answer. A part of him that hid inside.

  As to how he learned to fly? Standing on that rooftop deck, the wind whipping at his new body, the sheer cliff they surveyed dizzying, Gaston had flicked his hands and sent one of his ghostly minions to shove JF over the edge.

  When a man was falling, plummeting to a sure death, he learned very quickly to flap the wings at his back.

  Even then, he was clumsy and uncoordinated. He almost smashed. Almost, so when he untangled himself from the ground, he ran back up all those stairs to the rooftop, emerging with a scowl and a barked, “What the fuck is wrong with you?

  Gaston had beamed, quite proud of himself. “All fledglings need a shove out of the nest,” was his apology.

  But JF forgave him and then cursed him as he figured out how to draw his new appendages into his back and return to normal. He tried not to think about what his inside must look like with the wings squished in there, the science and magic behind it more than he wanted to know. He did, however, like that, when he needed to, he could fly. A perk to his whampyr state that somewhat made up for the fact that he’d become a monster that needed blood to survive. Drinking blood sure beat dying, though.

  Night had fallen, and while the moon sat fat in the sky, a hazy layer of clouds meant it did little to truly illuminate the world below, which suited him just fine. He had no desire for anyone to see or wonder at the dark shape coasting the tropical breezes.

  From afar, he might appear as a bat, but up close, his size and very human shape would quickly reveal he was so much more than that.

  While he might not enjoy his appearance necessarily—looking like a fucking gargoyle indeed—he couldn’t deny his increased sensibility to his surroundings. His eyesight, so much sharper. His strength, agility much more concise. As for his hearing, the term “hear a flea fart” came to mind. His ears, pointed and tufted, the shell of them enlarged compared to his human shape, could swivel to a certain extent, listening devices tuned in, looking for a certain sound.

  The roar came again, lower in octave this time. Disgruntled and pained.

  I’m coming, you dumbass feline.

  No wonder Gaston had sent him on this trip. Not even one day here and already she’d managed to get into trouble.

  She must have some kind of aura around her that attracts it. How else to explain his own actions?

  He banked, a smooth tilt of his wings—that had taken hours of practice to master after his rebirth—and skimmed the tops of the trees, peering through the branches to the ground below. He almost passed her by. A hint of gold caught his eye, and he pulled up to slow his passage.

  For a moment, he hovered overhead, big wings flapping slowly, using the currents to hold him aloft, trying to catch that glimpse of gold again. “Where are you?” he muttered.

  “Meowr. Grawr.” The feline complaint came from below and to his left.

  With her location pinpointed, he lowered himself until his feet gripped a thick bough. Then as he peered through leaves and shadows to truly locate her, he shook his head and said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He’d found Stacey, and a good thing too. She’d gotten herself into quite the bind.

  Walking along the branch with perfect balance, he hopped from it to one lower then another until he was on a thick bough, wrapped with a rope. From that rope dangled a lioness caught upside down in a snare.

  “I’ve heard of cat caught your tongue, but really, a tree catching a cat?” He crouched down and got to enjoy the way her amber eyes snapped. Despite not being an animal lover, he admired the smooth sleek appearance of her fur. The toned muscles of her limbs.

  “Growr,” she snarled.

  “Don’t get pissy with me, princess. I’m not the one who left the safety of our room to roam a strange forest and was reckless enough to get caught by a simple hunter’s trap.”

  “Meowr.”

  “Yes, it was dumb.”

  Hiss. Glare.

  He finally smiled for the first time this trip, which she might not realize was a smile, given his hybrid shape tended to sport a heck of a lot more teeth.

  “Would you like me to help you?”

  She nodded her furry head.

  “Say please.”

  Despite her feline form, she managed a very distinct dirty look.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t just shift shapes. It’s only a simple knot.”

  “Meowrrrr.” She yowled and wiggled in the snare. It was then he noticed the glint in it, a glint of silver, not just regular rope.

  “Well, I’ll be damned again, this is a trap meant for a shifter. You can’t change back, can you?”

 
She shook her head.

  Silver on its own wasn’t pleasant to shifters, but something in the metal didn’t agree with the mechanism for shifting. Add a hint of magic to it, because, yes, magic did exist, and silver could do many things, such as prevent a lioness from becoming a woman.

  “Hold on, princess. I’ll get you out of there.” Crouching down on the branch, he used his claws to pull at the strands, hissing as the silver strands, imbued with something, something Gaston would probably recognize, burned his skin. The fact that it affected him too, a whampyr, not a shifter, wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on. He was perfectly happy with his snobby view of the world and its inhabitants.

  The rope frayed, and before it could snap, he grabbed a hold of it. With only a little effort, he heaved the rope, ignoring the burning on his palms, until he had Stacey on the branch beside him. The lioness had no problem balancing on the limb, and he quickly pulled the tight noose off her hind leg. A ring of burned fur remained behind. Fur that turned into red and blistered skin on a pale ankle.

  “Poop on a stick, that hurt,” she protested.

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have stepped in it.”

  “I wasn’t expecting any traps. That was unbelievably rude of whoever left that there.” Her gaze lasered the offensive rope before she kicked it off the branch.

  He didn’t watch it go, more fascinated by the naked woman before him. So unbelievably sexy it almost hurt.

  “What were you doing out here?”

  “Blowing off steam.”

  “Alone, in the woods, at night, with a known predator kidnapping women? Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

  “I always land on my four feet. In my defense, who’d expect a trap in the middle of nowhere? Maurice told me the volcano was a good place to explore.”

  “Maurice is a puny excuse for a predator who probably couldn’t catch a mouse.”

  “Speaking of mice…” She eyeballed him. “You kind of look like a giant mouse with wings.”

  “Are you fucking with me?” He straightened and crossed his arms. “I am nothing of the sort.”