Predator's Refuge (13 page)

Killian’s low laugh was laced with dismal promise.

“Stop it,” Marci warned. “Both of you. Empty threats and accusations won’t get us anywhere.” She shook her head and looked over at the Jeep. “I have to call Charlotte’s parents. I can’t believe I have to tell another set of parents their daughter was hurt here.”

Both he and Killian offered to speak to Charlotte’s family on her behalf.

“No,” Marci said, standing up straight. “It’s my responsibility.” With one look back at Anton, she marched to the Jeep and got in.

He jogged over as the ignition was started. “Marci, wait.”

She looked over, her eyes so sad, but inner strength shining through.

Anton fought the urge to kiss her soft lips and take her away from everything, despite all the self-restraint he was taught at Pannonhalma. Shit, those bloody monks were definitely delusional and clearly needed a good, long fuck. “
Cicuskám
, I’m sorry.”

She said nothing as the Jeep rolled away, just reached an arm behind Charlotte and pulled her wounded friend toward her.

* * * *

Late that night in the resort’s clinic, Marci adjusted Charlotte’s pillow for the umpteenth time, and then reminded herself she was already fast asleep and needed no bed linen adjustments. She smoothed a hand over Charlotte’s brow and then let her hands fall to her lap. Feeling the need to fidget, Marci picked at her already raw cuticles.

She knew she should let her friend rest and find her own bed, but was too keyed up. Besides, she’d promised Bart she’d sit with her. He’d wanted to do so himself but had decided he could best serve her by “rooting out the slimy shit” who’d attacked her. After she’d made him swear he wouldn’t carry out some crazed vendetta around the resort, Bart had taken off with Connor to look for clues near the crime scene.

Someone had viciously attacked her best friend and pangs of guilt and anger rolled through her gut, making her want to lash out.

Who could do this? Why?

The clinic door creaked open and she looked up from her lap. Anton poked his head around the corner. Her chest swelled, and an instant warmth radiated throughout her body. The feeling grew stronger each time she saw him, and yet still managed to wind her and surprise her. He smiled. As her gaze followed the upturn of his lips, the emotion riding her threw her for a loop.

She was so glad to see him. His very presence elicited warring symptoms inside her. She relaxed around him now, could feel the soft fall of her tense shoulder blades, and yet her heart raced with anxiety and need.

Anton walked in and took up a spot next to her. Turning toward Charlotte, he eyed her neck and breathed in and out. “She’s looking much better already.” He turned back to her and frowned. “But you’re looking worse.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You need sleep. Let me walk you home.”

“No. I’ll stay.”

“You’re no help to Charlotte as a zombie. Give yourself a break, Marci.” He pulled up a chair next to her and sat. Playfully, he bumped his knee against hers, making wonderful chills roll up her leg and up her spine.

She dragged her bottom lip into her mouth and gnawed with fervor. Staring at Charlotte, she whispered, “I’ve known her since we were toddlers. We went to school together, talked about boys, griped about teachers together. She’s never been anything other than completely honest with me, and I know I can tell her anything and she won’t judge me.” An old recollection popped into her head and she laughed. “At one point during high school, some of the other shifter girls bullied me because my lynx hadn’t appeared yet. One day when they were giving me a hassle, Charlotte burst onto the scene as her wolf. Big and snarling, with every hair standing on end. After one look at my bestie’s big, bad doggy, they never bothered me again.”

“She’s a good friend to you.”

She turned to him and blinked a tear away. “And now it’s my turn to be a good friend to her. I want to stay until she wakes up. I don’t want her waking up alone.”

“She’s not in a coma,
cicuskám
. She’s just resting.”

“Still.”

He moved his chair closer to hers. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

“You don’t have—”

He arched a brow at her, cutting her off. She smiled, knowing better than to argue with his princely eyebrow.

“What about you?” she asked. “Who’s your best friend?”

Anton gave her a very queer look in response. He opened his mouth, contemplating the question, but said nothing for a moment. “I’m not avoiding your question,” he finally said. “I just haven’t had the same kinds of friends that you have.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve had advisors, teachers and court-sanctioned playmates, but I wouldn’t really call them friends. My father tended to keep my brothers and me somewhat isolated, except for the times he sent us to boarding school. I never really hit it off with anyone at school. If there’s anyone to whom I would confide, it was usually Gabi.” He grinned. “He’s the one who knows where all the bodies are buried.”

Once again, his gallows humor startled and saddened her. “Okay. Then what did you do for fun?”

“I usually disappeared into my music. I’d spend hours in my quarters listening to everything from Liszt to Metallica.”

It was her turn to smile. “What an eclectic selection.”

He regarded her from the side, narrowing his eyes. “Are you making fun of my musical tastes, lynx?”

“Yes, I suppose I am, tiger.”

He breathed in, turned his chair so he could face her, and gave her a long stare that had her thighs quivering in anticipation. Staring at her lips, Anton murmured, “What kind of music do you like then?”

She grew hot in the face and knew she must be blushing. “Actually, I don’t care for much modern music. I like the old crooners. Bing Crosby. Nat King Cole. Oh, and I could listen to Rosemary Clooney for days on end.”

“You surprise me in many ways, you know that? You are a very different from other girls your age.”

The heat from her face tingled down her neck and chest under his frank appraisal. “I’m not a girl, Anton.”

His gaze fell from her mouth down to her shoulders and caressed the round curve of her breasts. As he slowly made his way back up to her face, she saw his fists clench, so hard he must have left fingernail impressions on his palms. “Yes, I had noticed.”

The clinic door swung open and Bart marched in, his face pale and focused on Charlotte’s unmoving figure. “Has she woken up again? Has she asked for … anyone?”

Marci swallowed and tried to ignore the heat and the uncomfortable moisture between her legs. “Um, no. She’s sound asleep.”

Bart let out a breath and stood at the other side of the bed. He picked up one of Charlotte’s limp hands and played with her baby finger. After a moment, he put it down. “I got her parents settled in one of the cabins but they’re headed over. Why don’t you go get some rest, Marce? I’ll stay with her.”

Anton stood and pulled her to a standing position. Grateful for his strength, she let him, conscious of the tight knots in all her muscles. Somehow, without her knowledge, she’d become exhausted. “You’ll tell her I was here?”

Bart offered her a kind smile. “She knows you were here.” He turned to Anton. “Do me a favor. Take this woman to her cabin and make sure you tuck her into bed for me, okay?”

Marci and Anton stared at each other, and she didn’t know which one of them had a redder face. “You heard the man, Marci,” he said softly.

As dawn touched the sky with its salmon and rose-colored fingers, they exited the clinic. Neither of them said a word on the short walk back to her cabin. At the door, he asked for her keys and she handed them over without a question. Anton unlocked her door, walked in, and looked around the entire cabin, making sure no one was in there.

Marci waited on bated breath, sure this was the moment they finally gave in to their warped desires and had sex. And she’d never been more scared and more excited about anything in her life. Her lynx hopped inside her like a jackrabbit.

After checking to make sure all her windows were locked, Anton turned to her. Her lips parted and her lynx uttered a silent cry for him. He cupped her cheek, let out the mother of all sighs, and walked to the door.

Baffled, she followed his steps. What happened to the sex? Didn’t he want it?

He turned to her as he opened it. “Good night, Marci. Sleep well.”

No
. Unable to speak, her disappointment seared and stung her. She didn’t want him to leave, but did she really want him to stay? He didn’t seem to want to stay. As she fought the urge to run to the door and slam it in front of him, locking him in, she struggled for words to say, but couldn’t think of anything coherent.

He didn’t say another word and exited the room. She stumbled toward the door and locked it behind him. She dared to look out the small window facing the walkway.

Each of his steps away from her seemed to make her head pound harder and harder. Her throat became thick with the need to cry, and she struggled with the desire to beg him to turn back.

She didn’t.

And as she watched Anton walk away, her heart so heavy, she felt as cold and tired as an old woman breathing her last. He turned once to look back at her window. She caught her breath, hoping.

But he merely turned away again and disappeared into the woods.

* * * *

Father entered the cage and locked it behind him. From his corner inside his disciplinary prison, Anton watched and gauged his parent’s mood. He knew his father wasn’t happy. During their last “training session,” he’d demanded Anton fight back against Istvan, and once again, he’d refused.

“You sadden me, boy,” the Grand Prince uttered as he turned to him. “I have given you so many opportunities, and you consistently throw them back in my face. I might as well kill you and appoint Istvan heir. You are a disgrace to our family name.”

Anton, now sixteen and fueled by teenage rage, had grown tired of his training. “My family is a disgrace.”

The Grand Prince’s nostrils flared with indignation. He flew to him and punched him in the face, displaying no regret over battering his son. He’d done it so many times he didn’t even flinch at his own actions. “You deviant pussy. Shame on you.”

Anton fell to the ground, cradling his jaw. As he knelt, his tiger urging him to get up and fight, he examined his choices. He’d had a couple of sizable growth spurts lately, and now stood as tall as Father. His tiger had become just as bulky as his father’s pest-ridden beast. Could he best him? He wasn’t sure, but it would feel good trying.

Before he could arrive at a decision, Father strode to the cage door, unlocked it, and exited. Anton breathed a sigh of relief. However, within seconds, his father returned, clutching a smaller man by the scruff of the neck. Anton recognized the man. Tana Baranyi, a wolf shifter from their town.

“This man,” Father announced, “has not paid his tribute to me. I offer him my protection, and he gives me nothing in return.” He stared at Anton. “Kill him.”

Baranyi gawked first at Anton, and then at his father. “I’ve learned the error of my ways, Grand Prince. I swear. I’ll pay you double.”

“Too late. Anton, dispose of this rubbish.” He tossed him to the floor.

He stared at the quaking man, willing him to understand how sorry he was. “No, Father,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

“If you don’t, I’ll do it myself anyway.”

“Please, Father…”

Before he could finish his plea, the Grand Prince shifted and his red designer shirt shredded and tattered. Anton looked at the crimson ribbons on the floor, transfixed by how much the pieces of fabric resembled the bloodstains that would soon follow.

A mighty roar shook him from his bizarre reverie. Anton looked up, only to see his father tearing Baranyi’s throat apart. Shame and horror filled his being, and he vomited on the floor of the cage.

His parent completed the murderous activity as efficiently as an accountant filling out tax forms. He raised his head, wiped his stained mouth, and aimed his cruel gaze at his son. “This is your fault, Anton. See what you made me do? Ponder your sins, my son.”

With that, he exited the cage once more, locking him inside with Tana Baranyi’s carcass.

Chapter 7

Due to the attacks on the island, all regular events had been canceled. No more bonfire nights, no fish fries. Anton knew it almost killed Marci to make the decision, but she told him she couldn’t in all good conscience hold fun, frivolous events while women were being assaulted. The priority was to find the culprit. Any festivities would have to wait.

The police had been recalled and now operated under a heightened protocol. Working with resort security, they had set up undercover officers all over the property, posing as outdoorsmen and guests. Even Anton wasn’t sure who was whom anymore.

Several guests had left early and Marci was clearly doing all she could to keep others from canceling. Luckily, news hadn’t spread too far, but everyone knew incidents such as these could easily destroy the Ursa Lodge’s good reputation.

Some staff members had called in sick for a couple of days in a row, and Anton fretted as he watched Marci working overtime trying to find replacements. Many employees worked double shifts. Waitresses did the work of maids. Electricians took on landscaping jobs. Everyone did their part to ensure the lodge stayed open.

It had been two days since Charlotte’s attack and Anton had barely seen Marci. His tiger cried out for her, plaguing him, and all he wanted to do was draw her near and make sure she wasn’t stressing herself into an early grave.

He wanted to kiss and taste her again. Quite desperately. Her kiss had done things to him, had opened him up to a vibrant world, and he wanted to drown in its colors and scents. The sweet honey of her pussy called to him, making him want to lose himself in her, to sink deep inside her and soak her up. He needed to bury his face in her hair while he drove his throbbing cock into her fragrant core, and drank up all the beauty that was her body and spirit.