The woman simply blinked, then turned and wandered back toward the grill, notepad clutched firmly in her hand. One by one, the stares dropped away, leaving them able to return to uninterrupted conversation.
That would all change, Daxon knew, when the food started arriving at the table. Plates arriving heaped with food and returning empty. He understood how on the spot Baylee would feel; another advantage of the clan. Bountiful supplies of food, shared among people who ate just as much as you did. No judgement, no shock or—as Baylee herself had said—being looked upon as a freak.
He watched her carefully, the way she strummed her nails in a staccato rhythm on the table top, how she fidgeted in her chair. His eyes narrowed when she quivered and he saw how much effort it cost her to stop the involuntary shivers. “Baylee?”
Blue eyes met his, and he saw what he’d hoped not to. “Yes?”
“Are you feeling okay?”
Her hands moved to her head, kneaded the scalp until they fisted in her hair and pulled roughly. “I don’t know. I feel peculiar.” Fine dark hairs appeared along her hands, spreading slowly over her skin. “Sheba is restless. She’s hungry and hormonal and she wants to run.” The last word erupted from her in a pained growl.
“This is where that control we talked about comes into play, Baylee.” It took a coordinated amount of effort to keep his voice calm. Any hint of distress now would cause her transformation to exacerbate, and that would be disastrous for everyone in the diner. “Tell Sheba to cool her heels for a little while longer. Food’s coming, and you’ll both be able to run to your heart’s content when we get to California.”
Baylee hissed in pain, and Daxon saw her fingernails were now lengthening, sharpening, gouging the soft skin beneath her hair. “She’s not inclined to listen to me.”
He reacted to the note of urgency in her voice; in one sentence, she summed up her slippery hold on control, and he couldn’t allow her to shift. To keep their existence safe, he’d either have to kill everyone in here or destroy the woman he loved before she exposed them both.
He stood abruptly, pushing out of the booth and grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her behind him as he beelined for the bathrooms. She was trying to double over; he could hear the telltale squeaks and cracks of bones rearranging. He slammed into the women’s bathroom and shoved her hard against the wall, cursing himself for the rough treatment but knowing it was necessary.
“Get ahold of yourself,” he snapped, cupping her throat in a warning grip. The same way a male panther would use his teeth on his mate’s neck in a show of dominance. “You shift now, you damn us both, Baylee. Neither one of us wants that.”
Desperation filled her eyes as her face started contorting and her words garbling through sharp teeth. “Do something.”
Vex roared, whether in support or fury, Daxon didn’t know. His hand tightened around her throat, cut off her air supply. “Don’t fight me, baby. Just let go, okay? Trust me and let go.”
Her feet kicked at him, booting his shins and knees. She tried to bring her knee up into his crotch, a move he deflected using his thigh. Her clawed hands—more like full pads now—swiped at his hand and arm in wild panic. Undeterred, Dax held on grimly and used his free hand to grip one of hers and pin it to the wall.
“She either has to relinquish you or die,” he said sternly, staring into Baylee’s terrified eyes, beyond them to reach the entity inside. “Learn your place, Sheba. Respect your host. This is not the time or place to flex your muscles; you risk everything with this recklessness.”
Baylee’s lips peeled back to expose deadly canines in a savage grin, even as her face turned a horrible shade of red. Her eyes lost their spark, rolling back in her head. Her body went limp in his hold; immediately the changes reverted, leaving her completely human in appearance.
“Fuck,” he growled, immediately removing his hand from her throat. He kept his body pressed against hers, using himself to prop her limp form against the wall as he gently tapped her cheek. “Baylee, come on!”
He repeated the action, quick slaps that resonated sharply through the small restroom. Relief drowned him when her eyelids flickered open.
Then she wheezed, her eyes wheeling like blue pinwheels. He wrapped his arms around her as she sagged. The marks he’d left on her neck and face were red but slowly fading—relief enveloped him; he abhorred the thought of damaging her soft skin. He dipped his head for a moment, touching his mouth to the marks, acknowledging his guilt and kissing away the hurt.
“She really didn’t like that,” Baylee croaked against his shirt.
“Can’t say I cared for it myself.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, drew her tighter against him. “Have you got her back on her chain?”
Baylee winced. “Not without a lot of bitching from in here.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “I’m not sure I’m thrilled about being throttled every time she attempts a coup.”
“There wasn’t much time to stop her,” he said apologetically. “She needs to learn the value of patience, and the appropriate time to shift. The sooner I get you to the safety of the clan, the better.”
“She’s like a petulant child,” Baylee complained, rubbing her cheek against him. “And I’m a completely inept mother, one of those who gets beaten up by her own kids when they have a temper tantrum. She’ll get the best of me one day, Daxon.”
The resignation in her voice had him tipping her chin up to him so he could meet those wondrous eyes straight on. “No, she won’t. My mother will teach you strength and my sisters know all the tricks of how to shift individual body parts as well as I do. What changes can be undone, Baylee.”
“She just...slides beneath me somehow. I can’t explain it. She’s in my head, then she’s not just there—she’s everywhere. Before I realize it, she’s in charge and I’m relegated to being the hitchhiker in my own body.”
“Disconcerting, isn’t it? We’ll sort her out, I promise. Just hold a little bit longer so I don’t have to do this again.” Repentant, he bent his head and kissed his way around the marks his hands had left on her pale skin.
She moaned, tilting her head further back for better access. Her hands gripped his shoulders despite the wall at her back, her hips thrusting wantonly against him. “Who knew violence was such a turn-on?”
He smirked against her neck. “I’m a Dominant, baby. I know everything there is to know about violence and arousal. Consensual, of course.”
Her breath hitched. “Of course.”
Daxon closed his eyes and ran his tongue along her throat, pausing briefly on the rapidly fluttering pulse, then up to her ear. He nipped at the lobe sharply and laughed when she slapped her hand against his chest in protest. “I’m not making love with you in a diner restroom.”
Her hands ran up to his hair, gripped and gave it a nasty tug that sent blood straight to his already straining cock. “Who said anything about making love, you romantic sap. I’m in the mood to fuck.”
He jerked back in surprise. He’d heard her swear before—she could reel off swear words like a sailor when provoked, especially around him—but the profanity did something crazy to his self-restraint. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Fire flashed in the dark blue of her eyes, bright and fevered. She pressed her lips to his ear and said, “I wish you’d fuck me right here, Dax. My blood’s pumping hot and heavy, my pussy has abandonment issues, and you’re the only one who can make everything right again.”
Jesus. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand slipped down the front of her pants, fingers seeking the slickness between her thighs, and found her wet, hot, greedy. Her muscles clenched around his questing digits, sucking him deeper.
His eyes nearly crossed at the thought of his cock gripped in that brutally tight grasp. “You’ll be the death of me, Baylee.”
He heard a giggle over her breathless moan, froze in place. Sharp hearing picked up the sound of several feet heading their way and the girlish trilling of m
inor females in a group. Hastily he removed his hand from Baylee’s pants, licked his fingers clean—much to Baylee’s obvious dismay—and kissed her.
The door burst open and three teenaged girls screeched to a halt. More giggles as he broke away from Baylee’s lush mouth, then he simply stepped away and moved to the sink to wash his hands, leaving his lover panting and flushed against the wall.
“Food should be about ready,” he commented as though they didn’t have an audience. He dried his hands and held one out for her, smiling as she took it, unable to hide the tremors running down her arm. “Hungry?”
“Famished,” she murmured, glaring at him as they left the restroom.
“She is so damned lucky,” one of the girls said to her friends.
Chapter Fourteen
Baylee polished off the last of her meals, belched in a quiet, ladylike manner, then gave Daxon a sleepy smile. Belly full, she found he’d been right; overall, she did indeed feel much better. Aside from raging lust burning through her veins like wildfire, she thought she might actually be able to sleep all the way to California.
She wasn’t immune to the shocked, disgusted stares of revulsion aimed in her direction as she cleared the plates in front of her, one by one. The mutters started about the time she started on her second plate of ribs and grew louder as she continued eating.
She leaned back in her chair, dabbed daintily at her mouth with a napkin, then just sighed in contentment. She barely paid attention to Marjorie as the waitress came to bus the table. Baylee had found another happy place, and this time, it was in the form of a wonderfully sinful food coma.
“Check please,” Daxon requested politely.
Oh good, they were leaving. She stretched and yawned, ready to curl into a ball and snooze. Five minutes of warmth and the motion of the truck, and she’d be away with the faeries. She smiled at Marjorie when the woman returned, setting a small tray with a bill sat on the top.
Marjorie did not return said smile, just set the check down and hurried away to safety; no doubt afraid the carnivorous young woman in the booth would resort to cannibalism.
“Time to go,” Daxon murmured as the locals began to grow restless. He stood, pulling his wallet from one of the pockets hugging his firm ass, and drew out several bills of large denomination, leaving them on the tray beneath the bill. “Before we outstay our welcome.”
She rose, sliding free of the sturdy booth and wondering if the owners would burn the seating area once she’d left. She took Daxon’s offered hand and they walked unhurriedly out the door. “How much did you leave them?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Enough to cover the bill.”
“You did not just pay two hundred dollars for that!” she said, aghast.
“Enough to cover the bill,” he repeated with a straight face, “Marjorie’s tip, and to replenish their supply of beef after you just demolished half their stock in one sitting.”
She laughed and risked a glance back; Marjorie watched them through the safety of the glass, abstract relief visibly clear on the lined face. “I’m surprised they didn’t take a picture to put on their wall of fame. I’d look good on a wall.”
“Believe me, baby, there’s enough people who’ll want to put your head on the wall, mounted and stuffed, without encouraging them.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, boosted her into her seat and reached into the back as she fastened her seat belt. He draped a blanket over her before dropping a chaste kiss on her lips. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Baylee groaned and tugged the blanket up to her chin, shifting slightly in her seat so she angled toward the driver’s side. He closed her door and walked around the truck, climbed in and started the engine. “I won’t be able to eat for at least a week after that.”
“You’ll be surprised. That was a snack compared to what you’ll need.”
“No way.”
“Afraid so.”
“I’m going to get so fat,” she harrumphed.
“Hardly,” he scoffed and reversed out of the parking slot. They seemed to crawl away from the diner, but as soon as they hit the main road, he put his foot down and sent the truck roaring. “Shifters are a species that don’t have obesity as a health issue. Shifting requires energy; the more you use the gift, the more calories you use. Being pregnant, you’ll burn even more energy just by laying on the couch with your feet up.”
“Permanently skinny?” she asked sleepily.
“Lean as a whip and twice as fit.”
“Maybe I can live with that,” she murmured.
“Baby, even if you hadn’t become a shifter, I’d have kept you in shape in other ways.” Amusement and erotic suggestion laced his voice like whisky in soda, and it was just as potent. “Sex is one of the best ways to keep fit.”
She slipped bit by bit toward that state of drift, where sleep waited just beyond and staying awake took massive effort. “You’re having me on.”
“Would I joke about something so serious?”
“Probably.” She snuggled deeper under the blanket, and without fully recognizing the gesture for what it was, folded her arm across her flat belly.
“Get some sleep, Baylee. I’ll wake you when it’s time.” Fingers brushed lightly over her cheek like the softest kiss, then the radio clicked on and music followed her into dreams.
The dreams didn’t last long. Sleep broke into fragments, dropping her into one dream only for it to shatter, propelling her back to consciousness for the briefest, most confusing moments before plunging her back into oblivion.
As promised, Dax nudged her awake long enough to drag her into another diner, push more food on her and hustle her to the restroom to use the facilities, and then they were back on the road and Baylee was lost in the rhythm of the tires.
The next time she came to, it was dark and the truck’s headlights beamed down a narrow track surrounded by dense trees. If pregnancy was like this for the next nine months, it would drive her insane. Already she tired of this routine; sleep, eat, pee. Sleep, eat, pee. While the world went on without her, she slept. How frustrating.
Five months, Sheba corrected her gently.
Barely able to remember her own name, Baylee frowned. What?
Shifter pregnancies last for five months; two months longer than a normal panther and four months less than a human. Unlike human pregnancies, multiple births are not usually premature so it is likely we will carry to full term.
Well wasn’t that just a kick up the ass? Baylee scrubbed her hands over her face as she tried to absorb that tidbit of information. How do you know that?
Vex and I talk. What I don’t know, he usually does.
How do you talk?
The same as you and I. We’re bonded so it’s our natural communication. I cannot converse with Daxon as I do with you, nor can Vex talk with you.
Huh. Things just kept getting stranger. Baylee squinted out the windshield as Daxon braked gently, easing them to a halt in the middle of a huge clearing. The track ended here, and it was deserted. He switched the engine off and simply stared into the trees.
“Dax?” Baylee felt the hairs stand up along her arms. “Where are we?”
“Home.” His head turned, and she could only see the outline of his profile. “Finally. Wait there while I come get you; it’s rough terrain and you’re not completely with it yet.”
That was an understatement, Baylee thought as she fumbled to release her seatbelt with uncoordinated fingers. Her body felt disjointed, separate from her mind. She barely registered Daxon leaving the truck, and allowed herself to be lifted free of her seat when he opened her door and cradled her in his arms.
“Well, well, brother. Whatever do you have there?”
The voice came from the trees, low, threatening a growl. Baylee stiffened and looked around, unable to focus on anything fully, seeing only the vast emptiness of shadows.
“A welcoming party?” Dax responded easily. “How kind of you, Efran.”
<
br /> “We’ve had poachers sniffing around. Can’t be too careful.” The voice melted out of the dark, a frighteningly imposing moving shadow. “That doesn’t smell like Kaiyan. Smells...female. Pregnant female.” A rough chuckle. “Oh, you bad, bad boy, Daxon. Father will not be pleased.”
“Father can kiss my ass.”
Baylee clutched at Daxon when he set her down on wobbly legs, huddled into him. The giant shadow moved ever closer, eclipsing even the impressive height of Dax. She felt small and insignificant, and by the stranger’s tone—no, not stranger, she thought desolately, Daxon’s brother—she wasn’t welcome here.
“What’s your name, female?”
She kept her mouth firmly shut. There was open hostility here, something she’d never dealt with, and it hurt that it was directed at her. She eased away, tucking herself behind Daxon’s vibrating body, and pressed her forehead against his back.
“Leave her be, Efran. What the fuck’s gotten into you? You’re not usually so aggressive with newcomers.” Daxon’s voice lowered an octave. “Don’t think I won’t beat the shit out of you.”
Efran scoffed. “Like you could. Never could beat me, big brother.” There was a slight pause. “Are you in your right mind, bringing her here? You know Father’s opinion on humans in the valley.”
Oh brilliant, Baylee thought. Hostility ran like a mountain stream out here. At least she was forewarned now; she could find somewhere to hole up and live her life in miserable solitude.
“She’s not human, she’s one of us.” Daxon said it easily, but tension rippled through him into Baylee.
“My eyesight’s damn near perfect, brother, as is my sense of smell. That’s not shifter blood running through her veins; not hereditary, anyway. She’s not from any clan I know about, and I know them all.” Efran growled. “Abomination.”
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 20
