Feral

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

MASQUERADE

 

WEDDING FAVORS

(with Nikita Black and Allyson James)

 

PRIVATE DANCER

 

DEMONIC

 

FERAL

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2011 by Sheree Whitefeather.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Heat trade paperback edition / December 2011

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Whitefeather, Sheri.

Feral / Sheri Whitefeather.—Heat trade paperback ed.

ISBN : 978-1-101-55287-2

1. Shapeshifting—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3623.H5798F47 2011

813’.6—dc23

2011028164

 

 

LATE NINETEENTH CENTURY, MEXICO

L
areina stood in the shadows, churning with hunger.

She had been stalking him, watching him—this one called Noah. She’d heard that his people possessed some sort of special magic, or “medicine,” as they called it, and she hoped that this would keep him alive after she was finished with him. Not for his sake, but for hers.

She moved forward, and as she did, her dress swished around her ankles. She was naked beneath the embroidered fabric, and she knew that she was beautiful. In her human form men desired her, yet none had lived to tell of her charms. She needed someone to survive, to become the creature she was.

She headed for the cantina, where Noah was spending his evening.

Barreling through the door, she held her head high. Women were prohibited from entering drinking establishments in this area. But Lareina didn’t care if anyone tried to stop her.

The cantina wasn’t crowded. Only a handful of men gathered at the bar. They all turned to gape at her, including Noah. She returned his gaze. She smiled at him, too, her lips curving ever so slightly.

The proprietor, a thick-bodied man with his stomach hanging over his pants, waved his arms at her.

“No whores!” he said.

She stared straight at him. “I am not a whore.”

He looked her up and down. “You are not a lady, either.”

That produced a round of chuckles from the patrons. Annoyed by their male foolishness, she returned her attention to Noah. He wasn’t laughing.

The proprietor bellowed at him, “Get your slut out of here.”

“She doesn’t belong to me,” Noah responded, without taking his gaze from Lareina’s.

No one believed him. But why would they? Especially now that she was striding toward him.

She stood next to him. He smelled of soap, salt, and tequila, the combination strangely stirring.

“Who are you?” he asked, as the others watched.

She didn’t give her identity away. Instead, she touched the side of his face. He was young and handsome, with strong features, deep-set eyes, and shiny hair falling bluntly to his shoulders.

“Out!” the fatty man snapped again.

She wanted to growl at the intrusion, but she couldn’t. Maybe later she would come back to kill him. Or maybe later it wouldn’t matter. Her priority was Noah.

Since the trap had already been set, she turned and walked away, exiting the cantina. She waited a moment, her immortal heart thumping.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

She proceeded toward the woods, aware that Noah followed, his now-familiar scent swirling in the breeze.

Once she was safe within the trees, she stopped and turned. He approached her, and she beckoned him, peeling off her dress and tossing it aside.

He pulled open his shirt and undid his pants. Apparently he no longer cared who she was. He didn’t say a word and neither did she.

Anxious, he grabbed her, and they tumbled to the ground, crushing leaves in their lustful wake.

He freed his erect penis and plunged into her. She smiled like the seductress she was. He was deliciously carnal, but he was no match for her. She thrust back against him, creating a brutal rhythm.

His breaths rasped against her ear, and she rolled her tongue along the cords in his neck and down the front of his chest, where his shirt spilled open.

He groped her flanks and hammered her into the earth. Dirt stuck to her bared flesh, twigs jabbing her backside.

She flipped their bodies until she was on top, riding him, her legs taut around him. In his excitement, he roamed his hands over her, fondling her breasts, pinching her nipples, pushing a finger into her navel.

She kept moving, creating friction. He groaned his pleasure, and she relished the feeling.

Eager for more, she bit at his lips, drawing specks of blood and making herself climax. Heat ripped through her veins just as Noah shuddered and his seed burst from his loins.

Relentless, she bit at his lips again, only now her fangs pushed through her gums with knifelike precision. Her nails turned to claws, and her muscles elongated, her body getting bulkier, stronger.

Transforming until the animal emerged.

Moonlight shimmered through the branches, manifesting a soft light and allowing her prey the opportunity to witness what was happening to him.

Fear flashed across his handsome face, distorting his already bloodied mouth.

Lareina ripped into him, shredding his flesh. Ribbons of red streamed down his virile young body. He attempted to fight her off, but she intensified the attack.

On and on it went.

Harder. Deeper.

More fang. More claw. More sweet, crimson blood.

She growled with the power that possessed her, and finally, finally, she released him.

Barely breathing, he slipped into unconsciousness.

She peered curiously at him, batting him one last time with her paw. She couldn’t come back and tend to his wounds. She could do nothing to help save him.

Still in cat form, she ran through the woods toward the hills, leaving him at his own mutilated mercy.

PRESENT DAY, SANTA CLARITA VALLEY, CALIFORNIA

 

T
he safari-themed fund-raiser presented khaki-colored tablecloths and centerpieces with flowers that grew wild on the property. Lights twinkled in the trees, and cutouts of lions, leopards, and tigers mimicked animals that lived there.

Jenny had hosted plenty of outdoor dinners before, but tonight she was nervous.

She stood off to the side, scanning the guests. Earlier in the day, she’d received a generous donation, and the anonymous donor had claimed that he or she would be attending the fund-raiser this evening and providing another substantial sum.

Enough to literally save this place.

Her heart hadn’t quit pounding since she’d gotten the news. Would the donor actually come through? God, she hoped so. Big Cat Canyon, the exotic feline rescue her grandfather had founded, was her lifeblood, and she was on the verge of losing it.

“Any idea who it is?” Matt asked from beside her.

She turned toward him. With his golden blond hair and noticeable blue eyes, the family resemblance was clear. He was her cousin, but he looked like he could be her brother, maybe even her twin, though they were a few years apart.

“No,” she said. “Do you?”

“No, but wouldn’t it be funny if it’s a guy who has designs on you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because rich men are notorious for using money to get a woman’s attention. Stuff like that happens all the time.”

She shot him a get-real glance. “The donation isn’t about me. It’s about the rescue.”

“Really, cuz. I could have stumbled onto something here. The donor is being all cryptic and dramatic for a reason, and the reason could be in his pants. What if he’s setting you up to be his mistress?”

She refused to entertain the theory. “That’s ridiculous.” Jenny was a zoologist who, most of the time, ran around in dirt-smudged jeans and no makeup. “I’m not the mistress type. I don’t wear glamorous dresses and go to parties.” These fund-raisers were as fancy as she got, and even now she was simply attired in a crisp blouse, a knee-length skirt, and flat boots, with her wavy hair clipped into a tidy ponytail.

“So maybe he wants to spruce you up. Or maybe he’s into natural girls. Maybe he thinks a chick who rescues exotic cats is sexy. He might even be someone you already know.”