She eased to the edge of the doorway and peeked around, not intending to intrude, merely curious. But the sight of the man holding the puppy brought her up short.
Jag.
He lounged on one of the recliners in nothing but his camo pants, a tiny black schnauzer puppy cradled in his large hand, inches from his face. As she watched, the huge Feral shook his head, a wry look on his face. "I'm a cat, goofus. If you're going to escape the witch's lair, at least go make eyes at Wulfe."
But the pup was clearly exactly where she wanted to be, her body a wiggling mass of joy, her stub of a tail wagging like a windshield wiper in a downpour.
As her tongue leaped out to catch Jag's chin, he chuckled again, then lifted the pup until the two were eye to eye. "You're making a mistake, Toto. Trust me, I'm thelast one you should be wasting your kisses on."
Something inside Olivia contracted at his words, at the sharp kernel of bitterness she detected beneath the soft, rich layers of gentleness he showered on the pup.
An old truth. An old pain. Neither of which was any of her concern.
With a grunt, the Feral lowered the wiggling pup to his lap, stroking her head and back with a big, gentle hand as she plopped her little black rump on his thigh.
"If you're going to watch the game with me, you have to root for the good guys."
The pup gave a high, happy yip, then hopped down off the chair and ran to greet Olivia.
She grimaced, caught.
"Fickle female," Jag muttered, then stilled as his gaze followed the pup and found Olivia instead, his eyes flaring ever so slightly with surprise. Those dark eyes studied her face, then moved slowly, leisurely, as his gaze slid down over her shoulders, bared by the tank top, to snag on her breasts.
Her breath caught. She bent down to pet the puppy with suddenly unsteady hands, trying to pretend she didn't feel as if the man had just used his own hands to stroke her instead of his gaze.
As she rose again, the puppy took off down the hall with a happy yip. Olivia looked at Jag, her heart sinking as she saw the devilment leaping in his eyes. Only her pride prevented her from turning tail and following the pup down the hall.
"You here to do a little tail-wagging for me, too, Sugar? Want to crawl up on my lap and lick me all over?"
Even as her temper sparked at his refusal to show her the slightest respect, her nipples hardened, a rush of heat welling inside her.
"I'd love to, Jag," she said silkily. "But I forgot my heels."
To her surprise, he laughed, a soft roll of masculine amusement that lacked the gentle pleasure of the one he'd given the puppy but still set things to fluttering in her stomach and forced up the corners of her mouth.
His own mouth lifted in a smile that was at once lazy and knowing, and yet free of the bitterness and harshness that usually lined his face. But then something flared in his eyes, something sharp and dangerous. He rose with catlike grace to his bare feet and padded toward her.
She tensed as he closed the distance between them, bracing herself for a fight. Her senses swam. If she'd thought he was appealing from two stories away, up close he was breathtaking. His chest gleamed with hard, sculpted muscle, his abs carved from stone.
Her pulse began to race as he towered over her, but not from fear. Like all Ferals, he was a mountain of a man, but if she wanted to, if she opened herself to feed, she could kill him before he knew what hit him.
"Back off, Jag," she purred.
His mouth merely kicked up in a smile laced with challenge and promise.
"Spread your legs for me, Red."
Heat rushed through her, a furious mix of desire and anger. Within the space of one heartbeat and the next, he caged her, his palms pressing against the doorframe on either side of her head.
Asshole.She pulled one of her knives, moving with a speed few could match, sliding it against his inner thigh.
"Spread yours," she countered.
His grin only broadened. "You want me as badly as I want you. I can feel your desire rising from your hot little body like steam. I can smell your heat and see it in your eyes."
"The only heat you see in my eyes is anger."
He dipped his head, his warm tongue darting out to place a quick lick at her temple. "I can taste the desire on your skin. Sooner or later, you're going to spread your legs for me, and I'm going to push deep inside you, over and over, until we're both screaming for release."
As hard as she tried to steel herself against the erotic power of his words, she felt her body melting,wanting.
She pressed the knife tighter against his leg. "How about I cut off that cock of yours and see if it improves your manners any."
He lowered his hands, freeing her from the cage of his arms. At least that was what she thought he was doing until his hands clamped onto her waist, his palms pressing against the undersides of her rib cage. The sudden burst of unnatural warmth startled her, rushing into her like a flow of pure, sexual heat. The lava ran down, flowing into her inner reaches, heating her, setting flame to the sparks he'd ignited with his presence and words.
Moisture gathered between her thighs as her deep inner walls began to pulse and swell. Heat filled her, opening her wide as her body begged for penetration. Deep inside her, a pressure began to build, a roaring, volcanic orgasm.
No, dammit.
She sliced through Jag's pants, sinking her knife deep into his inner thigh.
As warm blood rushed over her hand, he jerked away from her.
"Bitch."The word growled from his throat.
With his hands no longer pressing unnatural heat into her, the building orgasm slowed and stilled, whirling close,so close, before dying a throbbing, aching death.
Olivia gave him her frostiest look. "You'll keep your paws to yourself, Feral."
Even as anger flared in the brown depths of Jag's eyes, his mouth kicked up in a dangerous smile. "This isn't over, Red. Not by a long shot. Before we're done, you'll be begging me to fuck you."
"Only in your dreams, Cat. Only in your dreams."
To her surprise, he gripped her jaw, something raw and wild in his eyes. "You don't know anything about my dreams."
She stared at him, glimpsing again the torment she'd recognized in the war room earlier. "You might be surprised, Jag." Jerking her chin out of his grasp, she wiped her knife on her pants but kept it at the ready as she turned and left him there. His gaze bored holes into her back until she rounded the corner.
Damn him. Her body ached, so close to release that all she'd have to do was reach into the front of her pants and brush her finger over herself a couple of times to bring on a screaming orgasm. She was sorely tempted to duck into one of the empty rooms and do just that, except she feared Jag would follow and find her like that, in the throes of the passion he'd driven her to. She didn't even want to think about what would happen next. His prediction could all too well come true. She would spread her legs and absolutely beg him to fill her.
Goddess, but she had to get away from that man.
With a growl of deep sexual frustration, Jag strode through the foyer and out the front door. Lavender and pink streaked the eastern sky, just visible through the branches of the thick trees that surrounded Feral House. The morning air smelled of dew and damp earth, of trees and grass and the small creatures that shared the land with the humans and Ferals.
But it was the sweet scent of Olivia's hair, the heady musk of her arousal, and the metallic smell of his own blood that lingered in his nose.
Damn, but he throbbed. His leg had already healed, thanks to his immortal Therian nature, but his body ached for release. He strode across the wide, circular drive lined with cars - everything from his own yellow Hummer to Kougar's silver Lamborghini and the three nondescript sedans Lyon had purchased during Tighe's recent run-in with the law.
Reaching the woods on the other side, he stripped off his pants, tossing them onto the ground as he pulled on the power inside him, the power of the jaguar that had marked him and claimed him over two and a half centuries ago.
In a rush of raw power, pure pleasure, and a flash of sparkling light, he shifted into his animal. A jaguar.
His line of sight shifted, his senses exploding with his cat's. Without a moment's hesitation, he took off through the woods at a full-out run, desperate to douse the fire that burned inside him. Though the shift into his animal form cooled the raging passion that had claimed his man's body, the fire continued to burn inside, deep in the recesses of his mind. Desire for something he couldn't even name. Obsession with a woman he didn't even want, except in the most carnal sense. A fire that licked at his innermost self with a pain he'd long ago learned to live with, though he found it impossible to ignore.
He ran, uncertain of his destination and not caring, as the damp morning breeze blew through his whiskers. But when he found himself high above the rocky cliffs overlooking the Potomac River, he climbed onto the rocks and stood, his cat's body breathing quickly from the run, his jaguar's face lifted to the wind.
What if he kept running? What if he never looked back? Nevercame back? The thought had entered his mind too many times to count. And he might have done it. A thousand times, he might have run, never to return. Except for two things - being a Feral Warrior was the one thing that made his life worthwhile, and the certainty that running would accomplish nothing. Because the thing he most wanted to be free of, he couldn't outrun.
Himself.
Finally, he turned back for Feral House, his thoughts on the woman who wouldn't leave his mind. Olivia. Dammit, but she intrigued him. He'd never seen her out of her pantsuits until tonight. He'd thought her hot in her trim business persona, but dressed for action, she'd set his blood on fire. He could still see her as she'd stood in the media-room doorway, her thick red hair deliciously sleep-tousled, her feet bare, the pants clinging to her narrow hips, the tank top molding every sweet dip and swell of her breasts.
She put on that ice-princess act, but she was as hot for him as he was for her. And when he'd touched her with his palms, pressing the pleasure into her, he'd nearly melted from the heat that had roared off her.
The odd ability to heat or cool with his hands had seemed useless until he'd long ago learned to use it to excite and pleasure his lovers; but never had a woman risen so fast, so violently, when all he'd done was touch her waist. What would happen if he slid his hand between her legs and palmed her?
The thought of it, of the scream of release that would almost certainly follow, excited the hell out of him.
This thing wasn't over between them, not by a long shot. Somehow he had to make certain she decided to partner him herself. And he knew just how to do it. He had her number. He knew pride when he saw it, and Olivia was made of the stuff.
Yeah, she was going to be his partner. And before this mission ended, that neat little package of a female body would be his.
Chapter Four
Olivia sat alone at the huge table in the Feral's dining room, devouring the piles of food on her plate. It was nearly noon, the time they'd agreed to meet to grab lunch and leave for their respective Daemon-tracking assignments. With no true understanding of the wraith Daemons, they weren't certain if they were nocturnal like their draden hosts, or could move freely during the day. Nor had they any idea where they'd hole up during daylight if theywere nocturnal.
So the teams would head out in broad daylight to begin a hunt that could take days.
She cut another thick bite of ham and shoved it into her mouth, amazed her stomach could hold so much. After her frustrating encounter with Jag just before dawn, she'd devoured a plateful of food out of a refrigerator mostly stocked with meat, then returned to her room, where she'd given in to the need to relieve the awful sexual tension Jag had left her with. As she'd guessed, only a few quick strokes of her finger had brought on a cataclysmic release.
She'd fallen asleep almost immediately after, sleeping a solid six hours. And woken starved again. Her body was burning through the food at an alarming rate.
Pink set a platter of thick-sliced toast on the table, preparing for the rest of the household, who should be arriving any minute. With a smile at the pink-feathered bird-woman, Olivia grabbed a couple slices, eating them quickly. The others better get down soon, or there wasn't going to be anything left.
What she craved and needed was life energy. She couldn't get away from Jag soon enough.
She'd decided Niall would be the one to partner him. Niall was by far the more even-tempered of her two men and far less likely to let Jag's antagonistic remarks draw him into a fight. And while her instincts told her Jag would never intentionally kill one of their own, a Feral with his claws and fangs drawn could be deadly to mortals and immortals alike. No Therian would ever win against a Feral. Not unless the Feral let him.
Or, in her case, unless she had an unfair advantage.
She had confidence that Niall would be able to handle Jag for a few days, and that should be all they needed to find and kill the Daemons.
The sound of male footsteps and the low sound of voices beyond the dining-room door warned her she was about to get company. A moment later, Ewan and Niall walked into the room in uniform, dressed in black pants and boots much like hers, and dark red T-shirts.
A bear of a man, Ewan possessed fair coloring and a neck as thick as her upper thigh.
Niall, on the other hand, stood lean and wiry, as dark as Ewan was fair. Of the two, Niall's eyes were by far the softer. At least when they looked at her.
Both men followed her without question, or they wouldn't be under her command.
But she and Niall had known one another for more than three hundred years and had been intimate on and off during most of that time. And while that wasn't unusual, she knew Niall wanted more from her. A relationship. Commitment. Neither of which she would ever give him.