Soul of the Wildcat

by Devyn Quinn

  Barely daring to breathe lest she disturb her companion, Dakoda eased herself up on one elbow. The bunk they lay on was barely wide enough to accommodate one, much less two, bodies. For both to fit comfortably meant Dakoda was practically plastered back against the wall. Jesse Clawfoot lay partially sprawled on top of her. His eyes were closed, and lashes longer than any man had a right to have were spread out just above his finely etched cheekbones. Deep in sleep, his mouth was parted just enough to allow the barest hint of a snore to escape.

  Catching him asleep and unaware gave Dakoda the chance to see, really see, him for the first time. When he’d shifted into human form, the shock had made it impossible for her to concentrate on more than what was happening at the moment. Now that she had a minute to herself, she could study him without restraint.

  Her searching gaze skimmed over his naked form, visually tracing the lines of his sinewy body; from the hard-packed muscles of his arms, to the ridges of his back, then down his long, endless legs.

  A small smile of appreciation parted her lips. He was solidly built. And utterly gorgeous. A man who can shift into a cougar.

  Though she’d witnessed it with her own eyes, Dakoda still found it almost impossible to wrap her mind around the concept. Even though he’d somewhat explained that the ability to shift was centered in neural pathways modern man no longer had any cognizance or control over, she still found the idea hard to grasp. She supposed the key would be in the idea of mind conquering matter, some sort of psi-kinetic ability clearly dormant in most human beings. The fact the Tlvdatsi had managed to retain and use a knowledge dating back to practically the beginning of mankind was amazing.

  Careful not to disturb his rest, Dakoda gently traced the knotty ridge of a scar gashed across his left shoulder. He had a lot of them, some more set into his flesh than others. Crisscrossing his shoulders, back, and thighs, the damage indicated he fought often and viciously.

  A small shiver tripped down her spine. As a young male, Jesse was fighting for not only a mate but also territory of his own.

  The shiver made another trip. He said he could smell me, she thought. A female in heat.

  One of his kind.

  Tlvdatsi.

  Was it really possible her unknown father might be Native American in origin? Could she really be carrying some sort of recessive gene that would identify her to others of her kind?

  At this point such questions were unanswerable. She could guess, and she could speculate. But she just didn’t know for sure. The possibility she’d ever know for sure was just as remote. Her mother was long deceased, and her father was listed as unknown on her birth certificate. The world viewed her as just another bastard. Society gave little sympathy to people like her, the children of poor, transient, drug-addled women. Making her way, finding her place, was her own responsibility. The path she chose to travel was one she charted.

  Somehow, for some reason known only to fate and the heavens above, Jesse Clawfoot had stepped in to point her in an entirely new direction. The route he guided her toward went against everything she’d ever known or believed about herself—and her soul.

  Dakoda already knew she wasn’t going down without a fight. A single glance at Jesse’s skin reassured her that he didn’t just turn tail and run, either. He fought and fought hard. Whatever force or fate had brought them together would now pay hell tearing them apart. Somehow, they’d stay together.

  Somehow they’d survive.

  She just didn’t know how yet.

  Yawning deeply, Jesse opened his eyes. “Mmm.” He snuggled closer to Dakoda. “Now this is a hell of a way to wake up, with a naked, warm woman beneath me.”

  Dakoda couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t you mean a squashed woman beneath you?” She wiggled briefly, rolling on her side and repositioning her body to better fit against his in the narrow space. She cocked a leg over his hips to make things a little more comfortable.

  One of Jesse’s big palms immediately settled on the curve of her rear, bringing her in a little closer. Awakened by the heat of her nearby sex, his flaccid penis stirred with interest. “Now this is something I could take advantage of,” he murmured.

  Dakoda trembled. Oh, heavens. There was no doubting the sudden achy warmth spreading between her legs. She wanted him again. The minutes were ticking away until their captors would return, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was satisfying the sweet ache in her core one more time.

  “So take advantage,” she murmured against his mouth.

  Jesse’s hand slowly traveled up her side. Slipping between their bodies, he found and stroked one beaded nipple.

  Shuddering in lust, Dakoda pressed her hips closer to his. Gloriously erect, the silky crown of his penis rubbed against her creamy sex. All it would take is one push, and he’d be inside.

  Realizing her intent, Jesse held off. “Slow,” he murmured, nibbling her bottom lip. His breath was moist, musky, against her needy skin, not at all unappealing. His fingers made a slow circle around her sensitive areola.

  Teeth clamping together, Dakoda sucked in a breath. The first pulses of climax were beginning to build all over again. “Please,” she moaned.

  Pinching and twisting her swollen nipple, Jesse pumped his hips upward. He eased inside her, just a little. Just enough to give her a taste. “You want it,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact.

  Dakoda’s hand automatically curled around the curve of his ass cheek. He was taking his own good time, but she wasn’t willing to wait. These last precious minutes were too few, and couldn’t possibly last much longer.

  “Yes,” she breathed back. “I want it all.” Fingers digging into the firm flesh, she urged him deeper.

  Tugging on her nipple, Jesse relented. He stabbed his rigid cock upward, hard enough to fully penetrate her sex. His eyes fluttered shut, and a low groan emanated from his throat. “Being inside you feels like warm, wet velvet.”

  Shuddering in raw need, Dakoda closed her eyes, prelude to the spinning of a deliciously carnal fantasy. If only…

  The sudden clatter of rough-edged voices outside shattered the moment. Heavy footsteps drew closer. A curse and grunt accompanied the grating sound made by the plank as it was lifted away from the door.

  Desire fled like a rabbit flushed out of the brush by a hound. Bodies immediately breaking apart, both of them struggled to find something to cover themselves with. Dakoda reached for the blanket, flipping it over her nude body. A snarl curled Jesse’s lips as he sprang to his feet. The blanket he’d earlier covered himself with lay a few feet away. He barely managed to snag it before the door swung outward on creaky hinges.

  The sun beaming in from outside outlined a familiar figure. “Wakey, wakey,” a cornpone-accented voice boomed.

  Dakoda’s breath hung in her lungs, too heavy to easily expel. Waylon Barnett stood at the threshold. As expected, he wasn’t alone. His cousin Rusty, ever the bearer of the big firepower, followed closely behind.

  Dakoda’s eyes narrowed. The bastard. He’d killed Greg without thinking twice or showing an ounce of remorse. The thought of leaping off the bunk and tearing him a new asshole loomed large in the back of her mind.

  Too fucking bad she couldn’t do it. Given the chance, she would love to kick the living shit out of him and then some. If there was any person who was a true waste of good oxygen walking the face of the planet, Waylon Barnett definitely qualified. He could fall off the edge of the earth, and she wouldn’t miss him.

  Acutely aware of her state of undress and the lack of weapons to back up her vicious thoughts, Dakota kept her back pressed against the wall. The blanket covering her naked body wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “We’re awake,” she growled back.

  A twisted grin crossed Waylon’s face as he stepped into the cell. The small, fetid space reeked of sexual musk. “Well, well, it looks like our male is doin’ what comes natural with a nice piece of pussy.” A croaky laugh spilled over tobacco-stained lips. />
  As he wrapped the blanket around his waist, a snarl pressed past Jesse’s curled lips, more animalistic than human. “Just what I wanted to see this early in the morning,” he grumbled. “A couple of ass-wipes.”

  Waylon Barnett’s insane grin didn’t waver. “Watch your mouth, mangy Indian,” he countered. “You may be standin’ on two legs now, but deep down you ain’t nothing more than an animal. Abomination toward God if you ask me.”

  “You’re the abomination,” Jesse spat back. “Backwoods, inbred cracker.”

  Rusty raised his rifle. “Shut the fuck up,” he warned quietly.

  Dakoda stiffened. Disaster was just a trigger pull away. “I think you’d better mind your manners,” she said, cocking her head toward the rifle.

  The smile on Waylon Barnett’s face was snaggled and what few teeth he had left were stained brown. “Manners?” he crowed. “That there thing ain’t got no manners. He’s just a soulless animal.” He glanced toward Jesse, still standing naked and proud. “You know where you’re goin’ to end up, Indian? Right back in a cage where your kind belongs.”

  Jesse clenched his hands into tight fists. “You wouldn’t be talking so big if you didn’t have a gun behind you.” He cocked his head, eyeing the poacher. “Seems to me I put a few of those scars on your face, Skeet.” He flexed his fingers. “If I ever get another chance, I’ll get your throat.”

  Dakoda gritted her teeth. If he was trying to goad them into killing him, he was doing an excellent job. Her heart tripped with slow, thudding beats against her rib cage. She’d already seen her partner blasted to bits in front of her eyes. Seeing Jesse Clawfoot die wasn’t exactly high on her list of ways to start the day.

  “Jesse, back off,” she warned, her voice rough with anxiety. “Now isn’t the time or place.” You had to pick your battles, and this wasn’t one they could reasonably win.

  Waylon Barnett sneered. “Better listen to that piece of pussy you’re fuckin’,” he advised.

  Jesse shook his head. “Maybe I don’t want to listen,” he countered in a voice deadly and low. Arms going stiff beside his body, he lowered his head. Veins suddenly corded around his arms, chest, and legs like thousands of tiny whips. Fur sprouted from his flesh, rippling across his skin the way a tornado whipped across a wheat field. Within seconds the cougar inside him sprang out, ferociously angry and ready to fight.

  Before Dakoda could blink twice, the outlaw drew the pistol holstered at his side. Pointing it directly at the cougar’s massive head, he expertly thumbed back the trigger. “Just try it, Jesse,” he warned. “Somehow I think that fur coverin’ you won’t stop a bullet.” An ugly snarl twisted his lips.

  Ignoring the threat, Jesse crouched low and snarled back. Ears pinned back against his skull, his tail snapped back and forth. Narrow amber eyes burned like coals in the deepest pit of hell. Feline lips curled back to reveal deadly sharp fangs. Seriously pissed, he was ready to fight.

  But it was a battle he had no chance of winning. The only thing he’d accomplish would be a bullet through the head.

  Pulse skidding to a stall, Dakoda choked on a gasp. “No, Jesse!” She glared toward the captors. “Now’s not the time.”

  Backing up his cousin, Rusty raised his shotgun. “Think long and hard, boy.”

  Waylon Barnett sneered. “You make any wrong moves and it won’t be you who pays.” His crazed stare swung toward Dakoda. The gun followed, pointed straight toward the center of her chest. “I’ll take her out so goddamned fast your head will spin.”

  Though a low growl of dissent rolled up from his throat, Jesse backed off. He shifted back into human form. “Leave her alone.”

  Releasing a satisfied grunt, Barnett tucked his weapon away. “Well, isn’t it just sweet of you to want to protect that nice piece of poon. Your new owners will be thrilled you’re getting along so well.” He made a crude gesture for sexual intercourse with his hands. “They’re just lookin’ forward to some little baby cougars.”

  Baby cougars? Dakoda licked dry lips. Oh man. Birth control definitely hadn’t been on her mind last night when she’d made love to Jesse. Having someone to hold her, touch her, soothe away her fears had taken precedence over the consequences.

  But reality was filtering back in with the cold light of dawn, and with it the sinking feeling that was sure to twist her stomach into thousands of knots.

  Since she wasn’t sexually active, Dakoda hadn’t kept up a steady regime of birth control. She’d let her prescription lapse, preferring instead to use an over-the-counter method, when and if needed. She hadn’t needed any in quite a while. Now her lapse was coming back to bite her in the ass. At twenty-six years of age, she was right on the cusp of a woman’s peak age of fertility. Last night she and Jesse had made love several times, and he hadn’t withdrawn once before ejaculation. Caught up in the moment, it had felt like the right thing to do.

  Wrong! The single word slammed into her mind like a sledgehammer powering into concrete.

  Head dropping, Dakoda’s hands slipped to her face. All her blood seemed to be draining away, leaving her with a sudden unwelcome chill. I can’t have his baby, she thought wildly. Not in this kind of situation. She could hardly imagine her child being born a captive in someone’s private zoo.

  The thought was too terrible to even contemplate.

  “This can’t be happening…” she murmured, more to herself than for the benefit of other ears.

  Waylon Barnett snorted, breaking through her misery. “The buyer is comin’ this afternoon.” Slipping off a backpack he wore, he tossed it at Jesse. “There’s something for you to wear. Make sure you have it on. They want to see a real Indian, and by God, you’re going to be native out the ass.”

  Unwilling to take any more orders, Jesse let the pack drop. “And if I don’t?” he rumbled.

  The outlaw bared his broken, stained grin. He fingered the butt of the gun resting at his hip. “Then I’ll shoot you and fuck her,” he smirked. “As many times as I want.”

  11

  Jesse Clawfoot curled his lip at the scrap of leather he held out in front of him. “Oh, God, you have to be kidding me.” He moaned. “No sane Indian has dressed like this for centuries.”

  Having managed to get herself dressed, Dakoda sat at the table, digging through the smaller cooler the outlaws had left for their breakfast. What she found inside wasn’t promising, but it would fill their stomachs. “What is it?”

  Dangling it between thumb and forefinger, Jesse sneered. “Believe it or not, it’s a fucking breechclout.” Another disgusted huff escaped him.

  Dakoda had no idea what he was talking about. “How do you wear it?” Stomach rumbling, she picked out a few foil-wrapped items. Inside she found a half loaf of dark crusty bread, a hunk of hard cheese, strips of beef jerky. More of the trail mix had been tossed in as an afterthought. A half dozen small bottles of water finished the stock of supplies.

  She picked up a piece of the jerky, attempting to gnaw through the dried strip of meat. Was it bear, or perhaps venison? Tough as shoe leather, it had a decent enough taste. Someone had taken the time to season and spice it just right with a tangy sauce. Chewing the tough strip, she washed it down with a swig of water. “So are you going to put it on or go naked?”

  “I’d rather wear fur.” Despite his reluctance, Jesse put the breechclout on. Pulling it up between his legs, he secured it at the waist with thongs.

  As he struggled with the unfamiliar clothing, a vision flashed across Dakoda’s mind-screen, the lust-driven sensual power of his cock sinking into her…

  Her clit twitched against the tight rub of her slacks against her crotch. Suddenly her clothing felt too tight, constricting. If asked, she’d gladly whip them off in a second. Her uniform was filthy, dirty, stained with remnants of Greg’s blood and her own sour sweat. Always a stickler for fresh underwear, she hated wearing yesterday’s panties. At least she’d gotten to bathe a little—if washing in a wooden bucket full of cold water could be cal
led bathing.

  She hurriedly cleared her throat. “Doesn’t look so bad.”

  Jesse grunted. “Covers my ass at least.” He put on the rest of the costume, which consisted of a pair of leather chaps and beaded moccasins. “I feel stupid,” he grumbled.

  Dakoda swallowed thickly, attempting to get those very images out of her head. Yes, he definitely looked better without any clothes on, but going around bare-assed and exposed wasn’t practical. The more she looked at his beautiful body, the more she wanted another taste of the pleasures she knew he could easily deliver.

  She bit off another mouthful of jerky. It was tough, but tasty. “Too bad you can’t figure out how to shift and still have clothes on when you return to human form.”

  Jesse walked over to join her. “Anything decent?” he asked, sniffing around the food. “I’m more than half starved.”

  Dakoda indicated the jerky. “That’s not bad.”

  He crinkled his nose. “Please, have mercy on my stomach. You’d think these assholes could go into town more often for supplies.”

  She nodded. “Riiiight. Considering they have warrants out in Connelly Springs, sure, going to town to buy supplies would make a lot of sense. These guys don’t stick their necks out very often, and when they do you can bet it’s one of their inbred relatives doing the shopping. I imagine they live off the land as much as possible.”

  Jesse reached for the bread, tearing off a piece. A chunk of cheese followed. Smashing the two together in a sort of sandwich, he shoved it into his mouth. “Tastes like shit,” he mumbled, washing it down with a swig of water. “Be better if it was pizza with a nice pitcher of cold beer.”

  Dakoda cocked a brow. “I’ve been slavering for a burger and fries, myself.”

  Jesse swallowed down another bite. “You know, the only hard thing about returning to live the wild life is you have to leave the modern one behind. I mean, yeah, my ancestors lived on this land, hunted in these mountains, and made their lives here. I know we Indians got our collective asses kicked and then some, but, what the hell, the world goes on, you know. Civilization goes on—and it’s a nice place to be, the twenty-first century.”