by Danica Avet
Primal Flavor
Danica Avet
Book three in the Cajun Heat series.
Being a human in a parish filled with shifters, Colette Robicheaux has learned to be tough as nails. A hunter with the kind of lethal skills that make most men nervous, all it takes is a single hot look from Zachary Trahan to make her melt into a puddle of goo. And this tiger shifter doesn’t fight fair, using his hot body and his many skills in the kitchen to melt her panties. But there’s a danger in the swamps that threatens to tear them apart, an evil that could turn this hunter into prey.
When chef Zachary Trahan took a break from work to hunt, the last thing he expected to find was his mate. A human huntress with a hot temper, a quick trigger finger and the kind of body destined to keep him up at night, Colette makes his tiger purr. He’ll have to fight his stubborn mate, her impossible family and the threat hiding in the swamps before he can finally claim her for his own.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
PRIMAL FLAVOR
Danica Avet
Chapter One
An undisclosed location
She ran.
The stitch in her side had grown into a searing pain and her feet didn’t just ache, they burned, but she couldn’t stop. They were out here with her. They could be behind the next bush, next to that tree, anywhere. And she wouldn’t see them until it was too late.
If she had been like them, able to change at will, this might have been a fair fight. Or if they’d given her a weapon, she might have been able to defend herself at least with one of them. But they’d stripped her naked and turned her loose. She stumbled over a log and nearly pitched headfirst into a tree trunk. It might have snapped her neck, which would’ve been a lot better than what they had planned for her.
Why was she fighting this anyway?
She paused and looked around, desperately trying to catch her breath. She had no idea where she was and fear made her blind. She was a city girl who’d never stepped toe into anything other than a park, yet here she was in a vast, strange wilderness and the monsters were chasing her.
How did she get here? Why? The last thing she remembered was flirting with the guy the others called Roscoe. She knew she shouldn’t have gotten into his car with him, but she’d been fooled by his beautiful blue eyes and his charming smile. All the loneliness she’d felt since arriving in New Orleans seemed worth it with Roscoe smiling at her like that, as though he knew how isolated she’d been. It’d seemed harmless until a hand appeared from the backseat and slapped a chemical-drenched cloth over her face.
When she’d awakened in a cold cage, Roscoe was nowhere to be seen, but they had her surrounded. Why did she keep thinking Roscoe would sweep in and protect her? He’d been the one to trap her, but something, like a whispered memory, pecked at her mind here one second and gone the next. It had to be a false, stupid hope that someone would save her. Her skin pebbled at the memory and she rubbed her arms, peering through the shadows at the woods around her. She really didn’t want to die here the way they planned. No one was coming to save her. Not Roscoe, not anyone unless she could rescue herself. She wanted to go home, apologize to her mom for their last fight and bury her head in that comforting embrace. But Kansas was a long way away from…wherever this was.
A twig snapped behind her, sending her into another full-out sprint. Panic steered her. She was only twenty-four, only a stupid human girl who’d thought moving to New Orleans was the perfect way to celebrate her independence. She’d wanted to be wild and party like a rock star, to enjoy Mardi Gras, to laugh and have fun because you only live once. A harsh, breathless laugh escaped her as she clipped a tree trunk with her shoulder, burning pain searing her skin. If these monsters had their way, she wouldn’t see any of the things she’d moved to south Louisiana for.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, something sharp slashed at the backs of her legs, right above her knees. She screamed as she fell to the ground, hitting it hard enough to punch the air out of her lungs. But she didn’t give up. She tried to get back on her feet, but her legs refused to work. The excruciating pain and warmth spreading down her calves suggested a horror she didn’t want to comprehend. But still, she didn’t quit. She dug her fingers into the thick dirt and dragged herself along the ground.
Down here the scent of earth, decay and a thick musk suggested she was in a place that didn’t see much sunlight. Probably a swamp of some kind, a quiet place where she could become the animal the monsters thought her.
She didn’t know how far she managed to move, but her slow progress allowed the others to find her, their heavy footfalls vibrating through her. She refused to look back, stubbornly trying to get away. She hadn’t made a sound since she fell and she wouldn’t do it now. Logically, she knew she wasn’t going to get away. She was going to die out here and no one would ever know how it happened. Tears burned her eyes as she realized her mom’s last memory of her was going to be the horrible fight they had and she said a silent prayer, begging for her mom’s forgiveness.
A man’s bare foot appeared in front of her. It was an elegant foot for such an ugly man. She didn’t need to look up at him to know he was naked. That was the way they’d all appeared to her, but then they weren’t like her.
“Animals,” she spat at the foot, not caring that she was antagonizing them. “Filthy, stupid, fucking animals.”
They laughed and the foot in front of her hooked under her injured shoulder and flipped her to her back. They surrounded her, wearing those weird masks they’d worn when they first appeared to her. How they’d managed to keep them on while shifted to their animal forms wasn’t worth worrying about. Not when they each lifted the mask to reveal their normal-looking faces. No, not normal because there was an intense, sick hatred in their eyes as they glowered down at her.
The leader, the one who’d flipped her over, stopped her with a single foot on her throat. She knew him from somewhere, as though he was someone important, someone she should recognize.
“We’re not the animals here, Miz Denton,” he said in a calm tone. His teeth gleamed white in the darkness as he smiled. “We’re the true rulers of the world and we allow your kind to live in it, allowing you the pathetic belief that you actually matter. It sickens me how humans like you actually believe you’re something special.” He squatted next to her, more of his weight pressing down on her throat. Spots danced before her eyes. He whispered as though confiding a secret. “If I had my way, we’d slaughter you all, but this is much more fun, don’t you think? One by one we’ll eradicate your disgustingly weak species from this earth and enjoy a good hunt while we’re at it. Before you die tonight, Miz Denton, you’ll discover the true meaning behind the power we wield.”
The pressure on her throat eased and she coughed, blood spraying over his foot as he stood. “Why me?” she couldn’t help but cry. “Why?”
He laughed and it was such a warm, charming sound, it reminded her of Roscoe, the betraying bastard with his heavenly blue eyes. “Do you remember a young man named Paul, Miz Karen Denton of Topeka, Kansas?”
She felt her jaw drop in shock as the man she’d rejected two weeks earlier appeared next to the monster. Paul had been a friend from work, a jackal shifter and he was cute, but she didn’t like him enough to go out with him.
“You thought you were better than me?” he asked her now with a sneer on his face. His muddy-brown eyes raked over her naked body seconds before he spit on her. “Get that look off your face, whore. I wouldn’t touch you with my enemy’s hand now.” The smile that curled his lips made her bite back a whimper. “You’re going to pay, you little human bitch.”
Claws slid from the tips of his fingers and his teeth grew until they extended over his lip. Karen
, who’d sworn she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream, couldn’t hold back her cries of agony and fear as fangs and claws tore her to pieces. Every tear, every bite, every rending of her flesh wrung another shriek from her throat until she had nothing left, until she couldn’t feel anything else, until the last thing she saw was the leader standing over her. His face and hands were coated in her blood.
“And thus ends another successful hunt for Fang and Claw,” he announced to the equally bloody shifters surrounding him. “Paul, my boy, you’ve shown great aptitude for this. Consider yourself inducted into the club. And don’t forget her heart is yours.” The chuckle he made after this announcement was accompanied by a rip in her chest. His smile followed her into the abyss as she welcomed the succor of death.
* * * * *
Colette Robicheaux paused in the middle of loading her boat for the night’s hunt, her head turning in the direction of the eerie scream. Her cousins paused as well, their happy chatter falling silent as the cry echoed around the swamps they called home. There was a tension among them now that hadn’t been there before.
They all knew that despite what the authorities said, those screams weren’t from a cougar. They were too frequent, too agonized and human to be anything else but a woman in extreme fear and pain. Colette’s heart sat in her throat, a lump that threatened to choke her with rage and sympathy for the woman. But there was no telling exactly where the sound came from.
“We should go look for her,” her oldest cousin Cotton said firmly.
Beau, his brother, scoffed. “You know we won’t find her. Whatever’s out there gets rid of all the evidence.”
Cotton turned on his younger brother, the two falling into the comforting sameness of sibling arguments. Colette tuned them out, her eyes trained on the distant woods without adding to their stress relief. They were both correct. They should go look for that woman, but Beau hit the nail on the head. They’d never find her. The hunters and families of Bayou Ange, the small woodland community in the far corner of Pointe-Aux-Chat Parish, had been searching for the source of those screams for as long as she could remember. Parties would go out, combing the woods they were all so familiar with only to return with nothing.
Their human senses, despite years of honing them by hunting the wild game in the swamps, weren’t able to detect anything unusual. And the few times her shapeshifter cousins came to Bayou Ange, they never discovered anything weird. The animals they relied on for food remained unfazed by the screams, as though they were a part of the natural landscape. The ground never held evidence of what sounded like murder long enough to call in the authorities. It was a pointless exercise to hit the woods month after month searching for the woman who screamed, but that didn’t stop Colette from wishing she could. The more superstitious people thought the screamer was a ghost. Colette thought that was a load of bullshit. It was a real person, they all were and they were out there at the mercy of a monster.
“Are we goin’ froggin’ or what?” Cotton finally demanded as he clicked on his headlamp. Colette didn’t even need to turn around to know her cousin was sulking. She could hear it in his voice. She knew he was pissed because he’d lost the argument to go after the woman to Beau’s logic. “We don’t get paid for sittin’ on our asses doin’ nothing.”
Beau muttered something in Cajun French, which started off another round of arguing. Colette finally tore her gaze away from the dark woods. The scream wouldn’t come again. Not tonight at least. But this time next month they’d hear it. And she’d have to struggle with the urge to run into the woods to find that woman and do something about her agony.
She turned just in time to see Cotton launch a fist at Beau’s head. “Hey! Stop that and let’s catch some frogs.”
Despite outweighing her and towering over her much shorter frame, the boys broke apart and stepped into the boat. Colette shook her head as she climbed in after them, sitting up at the engine, which she kicked over with one tug. The motor purred to life, cutting through the tension that had killed some of their happiness at being in their beloved woods. Colette cast one more glance over her shoulder, unable to help herself. One day she’d find the source of those screams and God help whoever caused them.
“Whatcha waiting for? Kick it in the ass!” Beau called back to her, his violet eyes sparkling with excitement.
Colette shot him an answering smile and revved the motor, sending the boat jetting down the bayou, the Robicheaux boys letting out Cajun “yodels” that could probably be heard clear to Maison Rouge, the distinctive “Aiyeee” echoing around the swamp.
* * * * *
He stared at the shack, his sensitive nose picking up the scent of the woman he’d left here hours before. There was no trace of her now. He was too late. He’d intended to get back in time to confront his mysterious boss, to press for his acceptance into the inner circle. The girl had trusted him, falling into his arms as though she belonged there the same way the others had, their human senses too weak to tell they were in danger.
And he was too late again.
His wolf snarled and snapped with frustration and fury. There wasn’t even the faintest hint of a trail to follow. Karen’s scent disappeared at the door as though it never existed. But he knew. He’d carried her in here at his boss’s request. And she was gone. Vanished without a trace. His claws punched through the tips of his fingers and his fangs threatened to slide free of his gums as he imagined the hunt, the capture.
But he’d missed his chance. Again. Not next time though. Next time, he’d prove his worthiness and end the mystery once and for all.
Chapter Two
The tiger crouched, patient and attentive as he watched the feral hog root in the grass, his snorts of contentment belying the danger of the beast. Zachary Trahan, the rational mind inside the tiger, cautioned his animal half to go slowly. This was their first hunt in months, the first time they’d been able to get away from work long enough to take time for themselves. There were no demanding brides or mothers calling him at all hours to make sure their cakes and menus were just right. There were no junior chefs following him home, begging for the chance to work in his kitchen. And there were definitely no women trying to entice him into doing something completely stupid, like mate with them.
The fur on his scruff stood at attention, his tiger offended by the very thought of being tied down with any single female. Zach soothed his animal and directed its attention back to the hog that had wandered closer. His mouth watered for a taste. When he was human, he preferred his food cooked a little more, the chef in him mindful of the parasites he chanced by eating on the hoof. But the tiger wasn’t bothered by things like blood and the possibility of developing trichinosis. It wanted the thrill of the hunt.
Even though the hunt had taken him farther into the swamps than he normally ventured, Zach had allowed his animal to guide him, following his instincts. The well-worn path leading from Maison Rouge had been used by thousands of shifters over the last three hundred years as they let their animals run wild. But the tiger hadn’t wanted to follow the usual path that would lead him to the areas heavily populated by game. It’d wanted to explore a bit, to test its boundaries and seek out a little solitude. And it had been wonderful.
Zach appreciated the nonstop business brought to his bakery door by the sudden popularity of Pointe-Aux-Chat Parish. Tourists bought his desserts by the pound as they hung around the small town in hopes of catching a glimpse of the members of the all-shifter band Saber. Some of the models, debutantes and dignitaries who flocked to Maison Rouge to be fitted for custom gowns by fashion designer Kitty Chambers loved to indulge in the chocolate he made. The weddings and mating ceremonies that kept popping up as his neighbors took that ridiculous step meant his catering business had increased as well.
Things were finally looking up for him. And he hated it. His eyes narrowed on the hog as though it represented every annoying customer brought to his door. When he’d started out with the plan
to take over his grandmother’s bakery and also run a side business, he’d never imagined it would eat into so much of his time. But there were many days he didn’t sleep because he wasn’t sure he could trust his assistants to recreate his recipes to his exact specifications. Yes, he’d handpicked each one and personally trained them. Yes, they were the cream of the crop and well-qualified, yet he couldn’t let go of the fear they would fuck everything up.
The hog snorted, lifting its head to smell the wind, dragging Zach away from his musings. His ear flicked as he caught a sound so faint, he wasn’t certain if it was a figment of his imagination or not. He ignored it, remaining perfectly still. This hog was going down. If it turned into a fight, so much the better. A fight was better than waking up after a night of fucking to see a female flipping through bridal magazines. He shuddered at the memory. Ugh, goddamn women.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he prepared to spring from the undergrowth, his ears flattening, his legs bunching slightly. His leap would cover two-thirds of the distance between him and the hog. His heart pumped faster with anticipation and the sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through his body. His claws dug into the soft soil beneath him as he used the ground as a springboard.
He leapt out of the leaves in an explosive burst of speed that had the hog’s head swinging in his direction. The little beady eyes widened momentarily, the wild boar rearing back on its hind legs in preparation to run and even took a few steps toward him as though his was the path of greater safety. The tiger snarled, wanting it to run, needing it to lead him on a chase that would drain the stress from his body. Except the hog no sooner reared back when it fell to the ground with a heavy thud, causing Zach to sail over his prey, missing it completely.
Sliding across the dirt, claws scrambling for purchase, Zach didn’t come to a stop until he hit a tree on the other side of the clearing. He barely registered the pain of slamming into the trunk, bouncing to his feet in one smooth motion. Someone had shot his fucking hog. He growled low in his throat, his lip curling away from his fangs. Someone had robbed him of his one moment to enjoy a good, long hunt and a tasty meal he hadn’t cooked. Someone was going to get their ass handed to them. He didn’t care if they were human or not. And he knew it was most likely some pathetic excuse of a human hunter. No self-respecting shifter would use a gun to hunt. No one, but no one stole his kills and lived to brag about it.
