Hunting the She-Cat Read Free

him
alive.
    At first, when he’d barged in and spoke
of finding her, she thought he meant her Native American
people.
    That her adopted uncle, Joseph Red
Bird, was ill and had sent him to her.
    Joe’s great grandfather had found her
wandering the mountains of Tennessee and taken her in; fed the
young child she’d been then.
    God help her, after a point in each
generation, she kept her distance to hide that she did not age,
then went back to them to visit to live a time. She was always
drawn back to the wild hills of home.
    She shared with no one that she could
change into a cat. Never. Not even Uncle. A very large cat. Larger
than any species she knew of. She was something like a cross
between a lion and tiger with muted, tawny spots.
    When she felt the primal reckless mood
take her, she stalked off into the woods and walked among her
friends in the native Lynx population. The wild cat was smaller
than she but soon learned she meant them no harm, treasured and
protected them in fact.
    Dammit, she did not owe this man that
sacred truth about herself. She didn’t trust him. He was too large,
too slick and confident. She’d like to bring him to his knees,
knock him around some. Oh, dear God, what was she thinking? She was
not an aggressive individual, not even in her freaky feline
form.
    “I see the truth in you eyes, little
one. You cannot hide from me.”
    In a blur of preternatural motion, he
was on her.
    He grasped her shoulders tight. Shook
her slightly, ever so gentle for a move of abject male
aggression.
    Her heart sailed so fast it labored.
She struggled against his hold, her muscles burned. Her hands
clawed at his arms.
    No use. She’d seen predators have their
way with smaller, weaker ones in the wild. She knew the
rules.
    She should have called for help while
she could. Her only thought now was if she screamed for help, he
would slaughter poor Mildred too. She loved Milly. She was bossy
and grumpy sometimes but she was her friend as well as
employee.
    With a snarl now, he went for her neck,
licking, stroking with his tongue. Relief rushed through her like a
tidal wave. He was kissing her, for God’s sake.
    Not ripping her throat out.
    That was good. Oh, but the damn kiss
was a mind-muddler.
    “What are you doing?” she
asked.
    He moved behind her, his arms looser
now, holding her waist. Nuzzling the back of her neck in prelude,
he growled and then sank his teeth in her tender skin, nipping,
stinging.
    She sank down in helpless reaction, her
knees threatened not to hold her up. His arms came around from
behind, catching her balance and pulling her to him
roughly.
    “Ahhh.” She cried out at the feel of
his contours and hardness against her back, along her
butt.
    “Lugar. My name is Lugar. Say
it.”
    “Arrogant bastard is all I’ll say to
you.”
    He snarled and bit her ear before
putting her lobe in his mouth and sucking it hard. “I have not made
love as a human before, sh’iabla. I will enjoy it I’m
sure.”
    “In your best dreams, beast.” She
should kick the hell out of him. Now. She would. Any moment.
Maybe.
    With his firm lips, he traced a path
down her spine, through the rich Pima cotton of her comfy blouse.
She bit her tongue to stop another cry.
    His hands snaked around and flexed on
her breasts, squeezing. Too rough, as if he spoke the truth about
not having hands for this kind of thing before. Her nipples
responded anyway, loving the feel of his rough hands.
    He groaned. “Nice, softer than I could
have guessed in a million moon cycles.” He caressed them again in a
sweeping stroke of each hand. “Fires of Magnon.”
    She had no idea where Magnon was but
his tone told her he swore.
    To her shock, before her eyes, her own
hands changed to tawny paws then flashed back.
    Oh, merciful God, she could not let
this happen. “Leave me … alone,” she hissed. In all the life-like,
delusional, sensual dream episodes she’d experiences all her life,
where she’d prowled the woods of night