“Oh fabulous.” Baylee blew out a long, hard breath. She kissed Allix’s cheek before she turned and walked away. Before she hit the end of the street, she started running, feet pounding pavement in a rhythm to match her heart.
She’d made a choice, the biggest of her life. She refused to allow her friends’ comments to eat away at her resolve; Daxon pressed some primal button inside her, one connecting all the lost parts of her together into a functioning woman.
He’d said he was dominant. She wanted to know what he meant by that. She knew of dominant behavior, and she vaguely understood the concept of dominance in BDSM—after all, she read books, a lot of different books, and some of them were...saucy.
Did she want to be tied up, tied down? Spanked? She blushed furiously, imagining how his big hand would feel against the smooth skin of her bottom. Between her legs, she dampened. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be opposed to spanking if that’s what he wanted.
Baylee paused, found she’d automatically chosen the route to Hangman’s Copse. She pulled her phone from her purse, rummaged through to find the card he’d left her. Her fingers trembled as she dialed, pressed the call button.
No going back.
“Um, hello?”
She blinked, pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at it. That wasn’t Daxon’s low, smooth voice. She put it back to her ear. “Daxon?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s not here right now. He asked me to hold his phone while he went...somewhere. Are you the lady he’s taking out to dinner tonight?” Something about that voice, something she recognized.
“I...I guess. Did he say where he was going?”
“Nope. Just that he’d be back in time to meet you here for dinner.”
Oh shit. “Cory?”
“Uh, yeah.” He sounded surprised. “Who’s this?”
“Baylee.”
“No shit? How you doing, babe? Hey, wait a minute.” Cory’s tone changed, darkened. “You’re the one this dude’s taking out to dinner? What the fuck, Bay? Have you lost your mentality?”
“Don’t start, Cory. Look, if Daxon comes back, tell him I’ll meet him there at seven, okay? And don’t give him any grief.” She hung up before he could answer.
The problem with being her, she decided, was everyone knew her business. Her lack of a lover had become common knowledge. She’d never left Hangman’s Haunt, so she couldn’t even use that as a decoy. Even the occasional night out clubbing in Helena couldn’t work; she was never left without a chaperone in the form of one of her friends. Rolling back into town after a few days away, singing praises of an amazing imaginary lover who’d rocked her world would have been best, but spending even a handful of days away from the store had been impossible.
Nope, she’d become the town virgin, the woman mothers used as a shining example to encourage their daughters not to jump into the first backseat that came along.
But now she had to kick her heels for a few hours, find something to entertain herself and keep her mind off impending sexual activities she hadn’t a clue how to navigate. She’d be fine, she assured herself.
She decided to go the way she’d instinctively headed, into the woodland. There were a few off-the-trail running paths she used occasionally—they’d pass a few hours. Her feet hit the ground, dum-dum, dum-dum, building the tempo until her mind cleared.
Asphalt disappeared under her feet, changed into the rough ground of the trail. The air turned moist, thick with the smell of trees and undergrowth. She heard the buzz and hum of insects, wishing fervently for bug repellent before her mind tuned into different thoughts.
What would it be like? Would he throw rose petals on the bed, turn the covers down and expose the soft mattress the same way he’d expose her naked form? Would he bother with foreplay or just get down to the main event? Would he even bother with a bed? Perhaps he’d just take her against a wall, her legs around his hips.
What would she do if she saw judgement in his eyes, rejection? She didn’t know if she could stand the humiliation. She’d have to run from him, run from the mortification and hide her grief. God, admitting to her friends they were right...
No. She slapped aside a low-hanging branch as she passed, dismissing the nasty images from her mind. It wouldn’t be like that. No rejection, no humiliation, just that vibrant connection and enough passion to illuminate Disneyland.
Sparks, she told herself. Concentrate on the sparks.
The trail began to climb, easing up the hill. Sunlight sprinkled through the canopy of leaves above her head. Time eased by, and before she knew it, she’d breached the head of the woodland and stood looking down over an expanse of trees in their changing colors and the town beyond it.
She forgot sometimes how lucky she’d been to be born here, raised here. Not just the scenery, the place, but the community. The people who’d known her all her life, who rallied behind her—behind everyone—and turned a little town into an immense family.
Her grandparents, her parents, all stemmed from here. Baylee’s roots spread for generations through this earth. If she ever had children—something she’d never really considered—their roots would dig just as deep.
And why did she have children on the brain? She had to have sex for children to even be a blip on the radar. She rolled her eyes at herself, laughed a little. Sex without a condom, and Allix had expressly forbidden that.
“You’ll be just fine,” she muttered to herself, pushing herself forward to start down the incline and back through the trees. “If people didn’t survive sexual intercourse, no one would have it. Just because you’ve waited, like, fifteen years longer than everyone else on the planet doesn’t mean you’re going to die.”
People couldn’t die during sex, right? Not unless they were like ninety years old or something, or had a heart condition requiring no strenuous activity? Hmm, maybe she should Google that, just in case. And maybe, she chastised herself, Googling what could go wrong during sex wasn’t the best idea. Pandora’s box, spilling evil everywhere, scaring the shit out of her.
She just needed to trust Daxon. He was an experienced man of the world, right? Surely he’d taken a woman’s virginity before. She should have asked him that. She snorted. When in the whirlwind of meeting him had she had the time or forethought to ask him about his own sexual experience?
Baylee checked her watch, winced. It was almost six, and she had just short of an hour’s run to get back home. She hated being late, but she couldn’t go on a date without having a shower. Sweat stuck her clothing to her skin, and she’d lay money she smelled ripe.
That would make a wonderful impression: come, make love to my sweaty, stinky body. You know you want it, big boy.
Oh, for God’s sake, she didn’t sound remotely seductive in her own head. How did women channel their inner sexiness in the bedroom? How did they find their inner sexiness to begin with?
The gradient grew steep, dropping down the side of the hill. She slowed, not wanting to risk a sprained ankle or worse by rushing. Loose dirt shifted under her feet like sand; she skidded, felt her heart lurch as she scrambled for purchase.
What scared her more than the near tumble, however, was the sound rumbling from the brush to her left. Every muscle froze; she could hardly breathe. Bears were rare around these parts but that didn’t mean they weren’t in these parts.
Rustling, subtle and stealthy, suggested this thing wasn’t a bear. And if it wasn’t a bear, Baylee thought in distress, just what in the hell was it? She crouched, hoping it would pass her without confrontation, but when another rumble came, it sounded close. Too close.
If she ran, she’d draw its attention straight onto her, as if it wasn’t already. Predators loved the chase; some would pursue their prey for miles just for the thrill. Baylee had no desire to be run into the ground before she had her throat ripped out.
Not on her big night.
Not running left her with one option: stand up, make herself as big and as scary as she could manage, and pray
fervently her friendly neighborhood predator didn’t see her as a challenger.
Before she could make up her mind, it stepped onto the path with the arrogance of a king. Jet black from the wide-set nose to the tip of its long tail and every inch between. Paws the size of her freaking head. Fur that looked as though it would be velvet under her touch.
“Oh shit,” Baylee breathed.
Dark green eyes stared at her, focused entirely on her. It sniffed the air casually, and the sound it made soothed her ragged nerves. It...purred?
Baylee held out a shaking hand to the beast, praying for all she was worth it wouldn’t bite her hand off before it savaged her. What on earth was a panther of all things doing up here? A pretty friendly one at that, she thought as it sniffed her fingers and licked them delicately. Had someone lost a pet panther? Dumped it?
“Nice kitty,” she said warily. “Lovely to meet you, but I have to go now.”
The panther’s eyes never wavered, but it’s teeth—the canines were thicker than two of her fingers stuck together, and several inches long—bared in a weird grin. A long, pink tongue slipped out across those teeth, and Baylee swore she heard the big cat laugh.
Slowly, she straightened from her crouch. One step in retreat, another, and the panther stalked every move she made. She yelped when those huge jaws clamped over her wrist, tugged. “No, no, no, no. I don’t taste good, I promise. Look, I’m all sweaty.” Good Lord, the damned thing nearly came to her waist!
It snarled wetly at her, pulled again. Sharp teeth put pressure against her skin, but didn’t bite down. Another tug and Baylee decided going with it would be more proactive for her health.
“Okay, I guess you better lead the way.”
Chapter Four
The woman had balls of steel, Daxon mused as he led her by the wrist through the woods. Only the incredibly brave or stupidly idiotic offered a hand to a lethal predator like his panther.
He’d been hunting for a couple hours, finally latched onto the trail of a six-point buck and had a great time tracking it to the source—a magnificent animal that could have given him three meals—when her scent floated to him from the hill.
The dilemma between food and mate posed quite the problem for the panther, one Daxon enjoyed experiencing; the primal tug toward food and survival versus the sexual pull toward mate and continuation of the species. Making a choice between hot, fresh meat or claiming his mate had taken all of thirty seconds. Daxon knew if he’d been on the back of the buck, his teeth buried in its neck for the kill, the panther still would’ve abandoned his pursuit for blood and gone after someone a lot more potent.
Baylee.
Every now and then, she tried to ease her hand free. He simply corrected this behavior with a low growl. This unexpected turn of events pleased him; he had the perfect place in mind for where to reveal himself. Of course, he hadn’t planned on doing so quite this soon, but if the fates orchestrated it this way, so be it.
The light began to dim, clouds rolling in and stunting the end of the day. He urged her on faster, wanting to reach their destination before full dark fell. He could see just fine in the dark but Baylee didn’t have that luxury.
She tripped a couple of times and Daxon waited patiently for her to right herself. He could hear her mumbling to herself about crazy people and intimidating pet panthers. He chuckled to himself; she didn’t know the meaning of crazy yet.
By the time they reached the clearing, Baylee’s pulse had settled. The way her wrist rested in his mouth, he was able to monitor her heartbeat with his tongue. He led her to the fire pit in the middle, released her, and nudged her toward it. He wanted light, and she’d need the warmth.
“You want me to light this?” She asked dubiously.
Another nudge before he sat and watched her patiently. She moved nervously, jerky little movements, as she opened a metal box by the side of the fire pit and pulled out firelighters and matches.
“You know this is weird, right? I’ve let myself be taken hostage by a damned panther, and you’ve brought me here of all places. Lighting a fire at the behest of a fucking panther,” she muttered bewilderedly. “Maybe I fell asleep and I’m dreaming. That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
If you say so, baby. He got up and prowled around her as she bent over to fuss with the fire. Lighters in the bottom, a handful of dry twigs from the pile beside the pit then the match to set it alight. Twigs burned, Baylee added more and more until a good base layer became established. She threw a couple of logs on top and sat back.
Daxon patted himself on the back for not sniffing her ass.
“Now what? Sit here all night with you? I have a date, you know. My first date with a guy I actually like. Big potential, you know? He’s going to think I stood him up, isn’t he?” Baylee sighed heavily, and Daxon heard the disappointment she didn’t voice as she got to her feet. “I’m never going to have sex. Everything’s conspiring against me. I’ll die a virgin.”
Not likely. Daxon set his head against her stomach, pushed her back until she tripped, sprawled over the sofa with a squeal. Her breathing picked up pace, her wondrous blue eyes wide and dilated.
“I know your eyes,” she murmured. She pushed herself up into a half-reclining position, studied him with a narrowed gaze. “I know them, but that’s impossible.”
Not everything you believe impossible is impossible, he wanted to tell her. He sat again, concentrated. Willed his human form to rise above the beast, take control, take shape. Shifts were over and done within a matter of seconds, once one had the proper control over them.
When it was done, Daxon stretched casually, working out the last kinks in his back and shoulders. Naked had to be his favorite form, he decided. Physical freedom, bonding with nature in the true way.
Baylee stared at him, mouth open a few inches. He couldn’t help imagining his cock sliding through that perfect O—he was a guy after all—and her lips sealing around him. She blinked a few times but other than that, it seemed he’d rendered her mute.
“Baylee?”
Her eyes dropped from his, travelled down the length of his body—all six-four of firm, sculptured muscle—to latch onto his cock, which saluted her proudly. He saw her swallow, hard, and heard the faintest whimper.
“I know it’s a big shock, baby. Truth is, I wasn’t going to show you just yet but things happen for a reason.” He walked toward her, gratified by the awed-stroke-anxious look on her face. “Can you say something?”
“Not really.” Baylee screwed her eyes up tight. “Did you really just do that? Change from a big cat into...into you?”
“Sure did. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Definitely dreaming. Fell asleep on the sofa at home, and my subconscious is infatuated with you, so this is just a dream.”
Daxon seated himself gracefully beside her, reached out and pinched her thigh hard. When she yelped, he grinned. “Not dreaming, I’m afraid. Wide awake.”
“Not possible. Look, I read a lot. I like shifter fantasies, sci-fi romances, all the weird and wonderful erotica stuff. It’s not meant to exist outside fiction.” She wiggled away a little bit, but the connection they’d formed stayed strong.
Daxon smiled. Their bond remained solid, and he liked it. He leaned back, easy with his nakedness. Her eyes were still closed, still denying what she’d seen, but she couldn’t get away with denying it forever. “Does this change your plans for this evening?”
Midnight blue flashed open, shocked and aware. “I don’t know. Are you allowed to have sex with someone not...whatever you are?”
“Shifter. Shapeshifter, limited to feline forms. My brother and I unfortunately inherited a genetic restriction from my mother’s side of the family which means we only have access to one set of forms, unlike the rest of the family line who can be anything they want.”
A hysterical giggle slipped free. “Genetic restriction?”
“Yes. I believe I have an uncle on Mother’s side who can only take amphibio
us forms. He doesn’t change much; there’s only so much you can do as a bullfrog or a newt.”
Baylee bit her lip. He watched her fight back the laughter, and she almost managed it. But some mental image obviously tipped her over the edge and the laugh spluttered free. “A bullfrog?”
Daxon nodded and, deciding to test the waters, rested his hand on her thigh. The laugh died instantly, her gaze dropping to the point of connection. Her thigh muscles clenched beneath his fingers, her pussy contracting at the touch. “He’ll go off every now and then, spend the day in a pond when he needs time out.”
She swallowed again with an audible gulp. “What do you do when you need time out?”
“I use the leopard for running. Panther or jaguar for hunting.” Daxon took her hand, wrapped it around his cock. “This for fucking.”
Sweet arousal hit the air like a fragrant bomb. Daxon ground his teeth to keep from pouncing on her. Her fingers tightened reflexively around the eight solid, thick inches of silk-covered steel, drew a groan to the surface.
“What...what else can you be?” Breathless, she ran her firm grip up and down his shaft. Her curiosity shone brightly, blatantly obvious.
“Anything, if it’s in the feline family.”
His hips thrust up, driving his erection through the tunnel of her hand, warm liquid seeping from the eye of his cock, lubricating her fingers. He bit back a hoarse moan, struggled with control.
“And this...what you are, it’s genetic?”
He nodded. “Sire lines are usually more dominant than dam lines when it comes to breeding, but occasionally a dam line can prevail, as in my case.”
“Oh. How likely is it a baby from...shifters will be one?” She struggled with the word, he could see her brain trying to work it out in her head, compartmentalize it into something she could understand.
“True shifter matings result in a guaranteed shifter. The odds vary if the shifter mates with a normal human. For example, if our mating produced a child, the genetic odds of it taking after my DNA would be around the seventy-five to ninety percent range.” Daxon smirked when her eyes widened. “If my sister were to mate with a human male, the odds drop considerably with only a fifty to seventy percent chance of the child being able to shift.”
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 5
