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

by Eve Langlais

  “Would you prefer I call you a bat?”

  “Not particularly. I am whampyr, which is nothing like either of those two animals.”

  “Have you looked in a mirror? If it looks like a bat, flies like a bat, then it probably is a bat. Just a bigger sized one.”

  “I should have left you upside down.”

  “Is that a hint you prefer me from another view?” She popped to her feet and did the unthinkable. Bent over, pushing her ass into the air, and giving him a shadowy peek at what lay between her legs.

  Lick it.

  No licking.

  But she’s offering.

  Still not licking.

  “I can’t believe I’m losing sleep for this,” he grumbled.

  “I can’t believe you’re not trying to take advantage of me.” A reply given as she peeked between her legs.

  “Desperation isn’t attractive.”

  “Excuse me!” She unfolded herself and whirled to face him on the branch. “I am not desperate.”

  “So you say, yet you keep trying to throw yourself at me.”

  “Why, I never,” she huffed.

  “And you never will.” Best he put a stop to this right now because he could feel his blood boiling again. Being near her, especially with her naked and flushed, did something to his cold control. Something that made his usually sluggish heart beat faster.

  Did she know how dangerous her teasing could be? Had no one ever taught her not to tempt monsters bigger than her?

  “Never say never, sweetcheeks. Especially to a lioness.”

  “This isn’t a game,” he growled. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  “Ooh, look at me shaking in fear at the big bad whampyr.”

  “You should. I’m capable of things you can’t even imagine.”

  “Like making arrogant statements.”

  “You’re impossible,” he snapped.

  “But doable.” She smiled. “Even your boxers can’t hide that.” Her gaze dropped, and that was it. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Couldn’t handle her.

  She kept teasing and tempting the beast. At one point, he would snap. Before that could happen, he fled.

  Climbing branch to branch, nimble and fast, until he emerged from the tree top and could take flight. Throwing himself into the warm currents coming off the ocean, he meant to escape her, only to find himself circling back, high enough overhead that she couldn’t easily spot him, but with his keen eyesight, he watched. He watched her as she made her way back through the jungle, once again wearing her fur, her steps ginger, cautiously testing the ground lest another trap find her.

  Only once he saw her reach the safety of her room did he spiral away, a primal cry rising from his chest, bursting free.

  A cry that was answered by something off in the distance in the jungle.

  Time to hunt.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bright and early the next day, Stacey had a decision to make. Breakfast in bed, or breakfast in his bed?

  Guess which she chose.

  Except upon entering his room—the lock he’d engaged no match for a determined lioness—she found his bed empty. It did look slept in, though, which meant he’d returned at one point the previous night, but where oh where could sweetcheeks have gone? Running water gave her a clue.

  She threw herself on his bed to wait, and when the bathroom door opened, releasing a billow of steam, she smiled at him.

  “Good morning!” Said with all the brightness of the dawning sun.

  “Go away.” Said with the dark thunder of a cloud set to rain on her day.

  He tried to step back in the bathroom, but she sprang from the bed, stalking his steps, giving him no room to escape. As if she’d let him go. He wore only a towel, low hanging on lean hips, his upper body—and what an upper body!—bare and moist from his bathing.

  It made her thirsty, and everyone knew how cats liked to drink.

  I wonder what he’d do if I gave him a lick. And not just a lick meant to quench her thirst.

  “Would you stop staring?” he grumbled.

  Not happening. When presented with a splendid specimen of a man, it was her duty as a nubile female to stare.

  While she ogled, she asked questions. “What’s up with your skin?” She reached out to touch, a jolt of awareness that caused her to suck in a breath. He didn’t move, which surprised her. Despite the rigid tension in his frame, he let her fingers trail over him, tracing the whorls and sigils in silver relief all over his body. “Are those scars?”

  “No.”

  “Tattoos?”

  “They’re not technically manmade, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You mean this is natural.” Startled, she glanced at his face. “These designs are awfully intricate for simple genetics.”

  “No more complicated than stripes on a zebra or coloration on a peacock.”

  “Those animals don’t turn into something else.”

  “If you’re asking if this is a whampyr trait, then yes. We all have them.”

  “And they’re all over your body?”

  “Mostly, except for hands, neck, and head. Some of my kind have fewer markings than others. It’s considered a level of strength the more you’re covered.”

  “The more design the merrier, in other words,” she mused aloud. She couldn’t help but walk around him, noting the lines looping and swirling across his back, down the line of his spine and disappearing under his towel. “I thought I saw some markings when you were in your whampyr shape last night. But they were harder to see. Not silver like they are now.”

  “The marks remain no matter our shape. They just get darker when we transform.”

  “Do they mean anything?” she asked, because, despite his claim they were a natural characteristic, something about them seemed to speak to her. A language in need of deciphering.

  “The pattern on our skin is only that, a pattern, nothing more. No whampyr shares the same pattern. Each of us bears a distinct mark. Like a fingerprint to a human.”

  “Were you born like this?” A lioness could no more contain her curiosity than she could resist the urge to roll in a patch of catnip. And it was a valid question. Despite popular human belief, shifters were not created. They were born. Two parents preferably, but mixed couples had been known to birth too. They also tended to throw some latent shifters into the general population.

  “I did not start out my life as a whampyr.” Stark. Meant to halt the line of questioning.

  But she wasn’t done. “So you were made.”

  “Made. Created. Transformed. The details of it are none of your business.”

  Did he not yet grasp she was making him her business?

  Leaning close to him, her breath brushing his back, she murmured, “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Making this hard for me only makes it harder on you, because I always get what I want.”

  “Not this time, princess.”

  “Oh yes I will. Consider this fair warning, I am not afraid to torture you.”

  “You can’t hurt me.”

  “Who said anything about pain?” She pressed her lips against his skin, feeling that amazing jolt of awareness again. It hit her right between the legs, starting a pulse in her sex that had her boldly pressing herself against him.

  Leaning into his back, she pressed her cheek against the bare skin there. Her arms wrapped around his front, hands splayed across his taut abdomen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it feel like I’m doing?” Her hand drifted down, over the ridge of the towel, stroking over his terry-cloth-covered thighs.

  “Stop it.”

  “Tell me what I want to know.”

  “I won’t.”

  A hand brushed over the bulge between his thighs, the one pushing at his towel. Wanting to say hello. “Tell me how you were made.”

  Instead, he whirled, grabbing her and forcefully pushing her up against the bathroom wall, his eyes blazing w
ith red fire. His lips twisted in anger. “I said enough. We are not doing this.”

  “Yes, we are.” Confidence was a woman’s best friend.

  “There are things you don’t understand about me.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me and I’ll stop.”

  “You’ll stop because I say so.” He tried to sound bossy.

  “What’s the big deal? Why is how you became a whampyr such a secret? This has to do with Gaston, doesn’t it? Oh my God.” Her eyes widened. “Are you a zombie? Did he like bring you back to life?”

  “How the fuck does your mind work? Do I feel dead?”

  “No.” Most definitely not, although his temperature didn’t run as hot as a shifter. “But Gaston is a necromancer and your master.”

  He sighed. “I am not dead. Although I came close. Gaston saved me, but in order to do so, he had to transform my human body into something else.”

  “He did this with magic?” She trailed her fingers over him and felt the trace shiver in his body.

  “Magic. Necromancy and ingredients that he won’t ever reveal. It is an ancient secret and one he doesn’t use lightly. Not everyone survives the spell.”

  “But you did, because you’re strong.” So strong and not just in body, but mind. He had an indomitable will that she found extremely appealing. “How did you almost die?”

  “You won’t like the answer.”

  Perhaps not, but she had a feeling it would answer a lot about him. “Tell me.”

  “A woman. A lioness shifter, just like you, eviscerated me.”

  “What?” The reply shocked her. “Did you do something to piss her off?”

  “How nice of you to automatically assume I did something wrong.”

  “We don’t kill wantonly. Not humans at least.”

  “Sasha did. She left a trail of bodies in the cities she visited. Gaston found me before I completely bled out.”

  “What happened to the woman?”

  A slow, cold smile pulled his lips. “She died.”

  “You killed her? And no one retaliated?” Shifters didn’t condone violence against their own.

  “I was even rewarded for it. Apparently, Sasha had been infected with some form of madness. A rabies for shifters.”

  Rare and incurable. “A kill order was enacted,” she said, finishing his story. “Well, I guess that explains a lot about you.”

  “Do you see why I want nothing to do with you or your kind?”

  She blew a raspberry. “Oh please. You’re not going to tell me that’s your lame excuse. It happened ages ago, and I am obviously not a psychopathic killer.”

  “The jury’s out on that one.”

  “I have no plans to kill you.” Then, because she was a biatch, she added, “Yet.”

  “I’m no longer a weak human with tender skin. So go ahead and try.”

  “And get blood all over my frock?” She looked down at herself. “Let me at least take it off first.” She grabbed the hem, only to have him slap her hands away.

  “Don’t you dare get naked.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t,” he growled.

  She didn’t need to ask why again. She could see it in the red glint peeking from his eyes.

  He wants me, but he doesn’t want to want me.

  Adorable. “Shut up already and kiss me.”

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t recognize that word.” Not with him.

  She grabbed his face and pulled it close enough to take his mouth. Take it and revel in the feel of it moving against hers. The mintiness of his toothpaste masked his true flavor, but she didn’t care because she kissed him. And despite his words, his anger at her kind, he embraced her back.

  A low groan escaped him as he gave in to the passion that erupted between them, his mouth hungrily devouring hers, and when his sharp teeth nicked her lower lip, releasing the coppery tang of blood, she moaned.

  “Yes. More.”

  This time, he didn’t stop. He suckled at her lower lip, drawing more of that blood, setting every nerve inside her on fire.

  His hands stroked down the fine linen of her dress, cupping her ass through the fabric, squeezing those cheeks.

  His big body pressed in against her, the hardness of his erection barred entry by the towel and clothing they both wore. But she felt it. Felt it pulsing and pushing, his desire for her evident.

  That same intense arousal coursed through her, demanding satisfaction.

  She reached between them, tugging at his towel, loosening it enough that she could grasp the root of his erection. His thick erection.

  Goodness. The size of it would stretch her. Pummel her soft flesh. Her channel squeezed in excitement, and her fresh panties grew damp. All of her throbbed with desire. Need.

  “Take me,” she whispered. “I need—”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Ignore it,” she murmured, feeling him freeze.

  “Someone is here.”

  “Probably room service.”

  “Which means if we don’t answer, they will come in.” He pushed away from her, catching his towel before it could completely hit the floor. He rewrapped it around his hips as he left the bathroom.

  Left her aching and frustrated.

  “Who is it?” she heard him bark as she smoothed her hair and took a few breaths to calm her racing pulse.

  A muffled reply. “It’s me, Jan.”

  The little whore was back to make another attempt. Like hell.

  He’s mine.

  Before Stacey could roll her eyes at the brazen hussy starting so early, he’d opened the door.

  In his towel.

  The man had no common sense whatsoever.

  Stacey’s gaze narrowed on the woman in the doorframe, who dared to look fresh and inviting in her form-fitting khaki shorts, blouse tied off at midriff, and was that a belly button piercing glinting? Francois shifted, blocking Stacey from Jan’s sight.

  Smart man. He knew better than to agitate Stacey’s lioness. He probably wanted to get rid of Jan quickly so he could return to their interrupted passion.

  Any second now, Francois would slam the door.

  Any second…

  Still waiting.

  “Morning,” gruffly said by Francois to Jan, and yet it was more than he’d offered Stacey.

  The jerk. Trying to make me jealous.

  Totally working.

  “Sorry for the early visit,” said syrupy Jan. “But I wanted to tell you we had a cancellation for our volcano tour that leaves shortly, and I wondered if you’d be interested.”

  Interested? I know what you’re interested in. A piece of Francois.

  Time to put a stop to it right now. Stacey sidled up behind Francois, who did a good job of blocking the doorway, and peeked around his bare arm. “How nice of you to offer. A jungle trek sounds like just the thing to get our trip started.”

  Pale blue eyes met hers, the coldness in them startling and gone as quickly as it came. An apologetic look crossed Jan’s face. “I’m sorry. We only have room for one more person. It’s a very popular tour and only has limited spots.”

  Of course the little slut only had room for one. Whatever. Francois would probably turn her down. He was here to protect her—and he had a fire to put out between her legs.

  But the jerk surprised her again. “Is this the one the bartender was talking about?”

  “Yes. It’s quite popular with the more adventurous males at the resort.”

  “I’m in.”

  He was what?

  “What do you mean you’re in? What happened to spending time together?” What happened to him putting his face between her legs and taking care of the honey pooling there for him?

  “I am pretty sure you’ll manage to keep yourself entertained for a few hours.”

  “But who will rub the lotion on my skin? I burn easily.” Said more petulantly than she liked.

  “You can always ask for help from the staff. We’
re here to please.” Spoken by Jan as she stared at Francois.

  I know that look. Stacey used that look, the kind that said anything you want, you big hunk of manly love, you can have. Naked.

  But Jan was using it on Francois, and he wasn’t looking away, and no one was paying attention to Stacey.

  Pounce them both. Her inner lioness took issue with the flirting between Francois and Jan.

  Jealousy made her claws try to poke. Jealousy combined with frustration made her want to scream.

  His attitude, and general actions, pissed her off.

  Which, in turn, slapped her awake.

  What am I doing? Why do I care? It wasn’t even as if she really liked him. Despite what happened in the bathroom, and even the day before, she wasn’t interested in Francois. Not one bit. Sure, she wouldn’t mind a fun and sweaty romp, but long term? Never.

  His hands were much too callused for boyfriend material. Hard and ridged and they’d probably scrape something fierce across her skin.

  Shiver.

  Would she ever find out, or would he run his deliciously big hands over Jan’s skin?

  I’ll eviscerate the whore.

  Whoa. She shoved her jealousy into a hole and told it to shut up. She wasn’t about to become one of those women who couldn’t handle a guy choosing someone else. And who said this wasn’t part of his plan?

  On second thought, this entire flirtation he had going with Jan probably had to do with their mission. He’s acting. Because, hello, no way he’d prefer that boring blonde to a redhead.

  His pretend interest in Jan would work out well, providing a good opportunity for Francois to discover something while getting him out of her way so she could begin doing her own investigating.

  “Go with Jan. I’ll be fine,” she said with a smile much too bright. “You’ll have tons of fun.”

  “I’m not doing this for fun.”

  “I’m sure it will be awful, and you can scowl the entire time. But be a dear and get some pictures, why don’t you?”

  “When does it leave?” he asked Jan.

  “In thirty minutes from the main clubhouse.”

  “I’ll be there.” He slammed the door shut and waited, they both did, as Jan’s steps receded. Only then did he whirl on her. “Were you trying to blow our cover?”