Magical Menages 1: Shifters' Captive

Animal attraction is the essence of their power…

Magical Ménages, Book 1

Waitress Sherrie Stolz never thought she’d need her chatting-up skills to play along with a hot, sexy kidnapper who rants about were-animals and psychic possession. Then he proves his story by changing into a wolf before her eyes.

Human contact never interested John Walker, but his mission is desperate. The pack seer insists Sherrie is the only one who can save his people from a rash of mysterious comas. His connection with Sherrie is instant, powerful and beyond rational explanation. And then a third piece of the puzzle enters the picture.

Grant Perron follows his instincts only to find his prize in the hands of his rival. He’s poised for battle—until he learns his panther shifter clan suffers the same fate as John’s pack. But there’s more. When the three of them touch, the primal, erotic power surge swells like the waves of an earthquake.

Sherrie’s hands—and bed—are suddenly full, figuring out how to manage two snarling alpha males without giving in to the urge to knock their heads together. And channel her new-found power before a villain uses it to destroy them all…

Warning: Contains abduction, m/f/m ménage, oral & anal sex, rough sex, wilderness sex, astral projection sex and plain old sex in the bedroom—times three.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Shifters’ Captive

Copyright © 2010 by Bonnie Dee

ISBN: 978-1-60504-873-4

Edited by Linda Ingmanson

Cover by Natalie Winters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: January 2010

To Kate, who is my best cheerleader and critic.

The streetlight was out, the bulb broken and glass shards scattered on the sidewalk beneath. Her feet crunched over the glass then resumed tap-tapping along the cement. Sherrie listened hard as she walked, but no other footsteps echoed through the night air. No predators lurked in the shadows of the alley as she passed. She was alone on the street. So why did the hair rise on her nape and prickle on her arms? Why did her heart race and why was she walking faster and faster?

Sounds or no sounds, she felt the presence of something nearby. Someone hiding and watching and following her. Was this what a rabbit felt just before a predator’s fangs bit its throat and sharp claws ripped out its life?

Almost home. Walk faster.
Her front door key was clutched in her hand, ready to jam into the lock the moment she hit the stoop. Pepper spray dangled from the key chain, and she had her defensive moves ready from the class she’d taken at the Y. If anyone really did come at her from the darkness, she was prepared.

She turned the corner. The front door of her building was in sight only a half a block away. In five minutes, she’d be sitting on her couch, shoes off her aching feet and laughing at herself for being such a wuss. But from now on maybe she’d tell Carl she had to close the diner just a little earlier so she could catch the last bus home and not have to walk. One lone customer lingering over a refill of coffee was no reason for her to take risks with her safety.

No sounds. It’s your imagination.
And then the soft pad of running footsteps and the sound of panting breath came from behind her. Sherrie slipped her hand from the key to the pepper spray as she whirled to face her pursuer. Adrenaline shot through her system, waking every cell, and they all screamed, “Flight!” Blood pounded in her ears so she could hardly hear.

A flurry of movement. Something large and dark. A body barreling into her and a hand covering her nose and mouth with a cloth. She inhaled to scream, and a medicinal odor filled her sinus cavities. Her finger went down on the trigger, spraying pepper, and she smelled that too.

As she lost consciousness and slumped against the hard body holding her, the last thing she heard was a murmured, “I’m sorry,” and, from somewhere close by, a dog’s howl.

The low murmur of voices was a part of her dream then became real as she surfaced into consciousness. Why was she lying on the floor, and what had happened to the threadbare carpet that covered her apartment from wall to wall? In a flash, it all came back to her. She wasn’t at home, passed out after an evening of partying with her friends. She’d been attacked and kidnapped, taken off the street right in front of her apartment.

Sherrie started to open her eyes and stopped. Better to take it slow, find out as much as she could about her surroundings before anyone knew she was conscious. She’d learned a lot from reading suspense novels.

A quick mental check and she realized she wasn’t tied up and that her key ring with the pepper spray was gone. She’d been left lying on the floor as if she weren’t a threat. If her captor assumed she was powerless, it gave her a small advantage. She might be able to catch him unaware and escape.

“…all I can tell you. It’s not right, damn it. I could’ve found a better way to do this if you’d given me some time.” The deep voice vibrated, sending shivers down Sherrie’s spine.

“There
is
no time. We needed to act immediately. We need this woman, and—”

“Sh.” The man with the lower voice interrupted. “Go now. I’ll deal with this.” There was the sound of footsteps, a door opening and closing then the floor creaking as the remaining man walked toward her. She drew a breath, bracing herself for whatever would happen and ready to take advantage of any opportunity to fight her way free.

He stood over her for so long that she thought she’d pass out from holding her breath.

“Miss Stoltz, I know you’re awake. I can hear the difference in your breathing.” His voice was so low and rumbling it sounded more like a growl than speech.

Sherrie wasn’t ready to open her eyes and see the face of her attacker. He could never let her go after that. He’d have to kill her. So she spoke with her eyes squeezed shut.

“Listen. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I won’t go to the police. Just let me go now before this gets any worse, okay?” She couldn’t believe how calm and level her voice sounded when her body was trembling and her insides were liquid with fear.

“Miss Stoltz…Sherrie, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I took you the way I did, but there was no time to explain things which you’d have a hard time believing. The truth is you could be in danger, and I’m here to help you as well as my people.”

My people?
Was he some kind of crazy cult leader?

“You can help me by taking me home. Or don’t take me home. Put me out on the street somewhere. I promise I have no idea where I’m at or who you are. I’ll go on with my life and you go on with yours.” There was a long pause, and when the voice continued, it was closer, as if he’d squatted by her side.

“I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen.”

His hand touched her shoulder, and Sherrie flinched. This was it. Whatever he was going to do to her was beginning now. Visions of all the possible tortures a serial killer could inflict on his victim before he killed her flashed in her mind. She’d seen too damn many detective movies and too many sequels to
Saw
.

“Please, open your eyes and sit up. I’ll get you a cup of tea or coffee or a bottle of water if you want—

sorry, I don’t have any soda—then I’ll explain everything.”
Laced with what drug?
Sherrie weighed the consequences and decided it didn’t much matter at this point whether she saw him or not. He wasn’t about to let her go. She cautiously lifted her eyelids and looked at the face of her fate.

Brown eyes with a golden cast gazed into hers. A frown drew his dark brows together. A ragged fringe of walnut brown hair fell over his forehead and grew in thick sideburns, framing his strong-boned face. His nose was long and straight, his mouth wide with thin lips pressed tightly together. He curved his lips into a smile, and white teeth showed between them.

He’s going to eat me up.
Instead of filling her with terror, the thought precipitated an insane flare of arousal. Her body tingled as if hit by an electric charge. Her breasts were tender, nipples pebbled hard, and her pussy clenched as if he’d touched her there rather than merely looked at her. What the hell was wrong with her body?

“You’re safe. We mean you no harm.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Sherrie thought of the man who’d left and wished she’d caught a glimpse of him too.

From the conversation she’d overheard, it seemed this man might not have wanted to take her. Perhaps she could work on him and convince him to let her go.

He smiled wider, showing more gleaming teeth. “That’s all part of the story. Why don’t I make you more comfortable first? I’m sorry about the conditions here, but I didn’t know where else to bring you.” He rose and walked away from her.

She eyed the distance to the door then his broad back as he opened the door of a mini-fridge and took out a bottle of water. How much time would it take to jump to her feet—or stagger because she still felt woozy—and run for the door? Despite his polite manner, she guessed the man would grab her before she could clear the doorway. Better to bide her time, listen to his story and let him think he could trust her.

Meanwhile, she glanced around her prison, a primitive cabin with a kitchenette, a couple of chairs, a futon against one wall and a wood burning stove. That was all the furnishings. There were two windows: a tiny one in the kitchen above the sink and another beside the door. Through it she saw tree branches and sunlight, indicating she’d been passed out for awhile.

“Here.”

She jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach her. He held out a water bottle. Sherrie took it, uncapping and guzzling the cool liquid that soothed her parched throat.

“My name is John Walker.” He held out his hand and she took it, struck by the ironic display of manners under the circumstances. His hand was cool from the water bottle and stayed wrapped around hers for a few seconds longer than necessary. An uncanny charge tingled through her body straight to erogenous zones, horrifying her with its inappropriateness.

Walker released her hand to sit on the floor beside her, his long legs folding gracefully beneath him.

He regarded her as he sipped from his own bottle. “Sorry about putting you on the floor, but it actually seemed cleaner than the cot.”

She didn’t reply.

He drew an audible breath. “I’ve practiced what I was going to say to you, but no matter how I say it, I know it’ll sound crazy.”

Never antagonize a crazy man. Show him sympathy and trust
. “I have an open mind and I’m listening.

Go ahead.”

“There are beings in this world that humans tell about in horror stories, but they’re real—

shapeshifters, people who transform from human to animal form. In movies they depict werewolves as killers, but in reality we hunt like any other wolf pack, roaming wild lands and catching game. The rest of the time we live and work alongside humans.” He smiled, again showing that mouthful of teeth. “But we aren’t human.”

Sherrie nodded and frowned slightly to display her understanding and sympathy. She’d had a lot of practice making that expression. Some of the regulars at the diner spilled their woes to her every evening.

Her captor shook his head. “I can see you’re never going to believe any of this without proof, but before I give you that, let me tell you why you’re here. There’s a sickness spreading among my people. A wisewoman in my pack divined that there’s a particular woman who’s the key to healing us.”

“Me,” Sherrie murmured, working hard to sound like she believed him.

“Yes. It’s not clear whether you’ll find the cure or if you yourself are the solution, but Anna saw you in a vision and told us where to find you.”

He leaned toward her, piercing her with his gaze. “Once I saw you, I knew. I could smell it on you. I knew she was right and you’re different—not quite human.” She felt a chill not caused by the cold water she’d drunk too fast. Her stomach rolled. Breathing in and out, she calmed her screaming mind before answering. “Perhaps you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t have any kind of medical knowledge. I don’t know how I could possibly be of any use to you or your, uh, people.”

“It’s not a normal illness. This is a psychic malady.”

“Oh, well, I have no experience with that either. Maybe you need a priest or shaman or something.” She was impressed by her capacity to spin bullshit under pressure. Her mother had been so wrong when she’d told her she’d never be a good actress. She may never have landed a role during her stint in L.A., but that didn’t mean she didn’t have some kick-ass talent.