Rage & Killian by Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright Page B

suffer the pain she inflicted and not retreat?
    And why hadn’t she scented him when he was in the bayou with the rat?
    Shit. The rat . Rosalie glanced around. Gone. Unbelievable. Or maybe not… It had abandoned a Pantera. What did she expect from a hybrid? From something developed in that goddamned lab. Mercier would’ve ripped this man apart then laughed as he fed on the bastard’s heart.
    The puma’s insides deflated in instant pain. Unfortunately, the emotion caused not only her instincts to slow, but the man to get the upper hand.
    He’d pulled some type of thin rope from his back pocket and was binding her puma’s wrists. She roared into the cold night air for her fellow Hunters and fought against the rope. But it was too late.
    “You give me no choice, Kitten,” he said. “You drew first blood. You won’t get another chance to touch me.”
    Touch you? Oh no, Human. Consume you is what I want. What I’ll have the moment you turn your back. Or expose your jugular.
    Granted, it was nearly impossible to cool, calm, or regulate the puma in that moment. It wanted only to struggle, get free, fight. Kill . But Rosalie had forced herself inside its brain now, and she knew that none of those things would happen if she continued to thrash and snarl. She pushed deep inside herself, to the cat’s heart, trying to urge the puma to stop fighting. But it refused her. It was her alpha now. Had been for weeks. It ran the show, and it wasn’t backing down or playing dead. Even to get the upper hand.
    As her puma snarled and fought and wriggled against the hard, wet earth, the man pressed on. He was shockingly strong and incredibly fast. In under thirty seconds, he had both her back paws tied together, as well as her front.
    Panic sliced through Rosalie as she fought for movement. Being bound, contained. It reminded her…
    Tears scratched her throat. Her throat this time. Not the puma’s.
    No. Stop and remember where you are. The Wildlands. Not in that—
    “Fuck no,” the man growled, his eyes searching hers before moving over her puma’s face. “I’m not turning into this. Those pieces of shit…”
    Pain lanced through her, stealing her breath. Pantera. Puma. What was she? Her eyes clamped shut. Oh Goddess. Goddess, no, please… But it was happening anyway. Her fur stood on end and her bones started to ache. Without her consent. A shudder built inside her and she felt her cat’s thick skin shrink. Tears pricked her eyes as claws, sharp and protective, drew back into the beginnings of fingers. She gasped for air, a strangled cry into the heavy early winter air.
    “Shit,” uttered the man.
    For several brief seconds, Rosalie lay there, naked, her back to the hard earth, her wrists and ankles still bound. On any other night, she’d be fighting, scrambling to get loose, cursing and snarling at the intruder. Promising him a long, arduous death. But not tonight. Humiliation and pain and grief anchored her body to the ground, stiffened her spine. She was that prisoner of the lab again.
    Slowly, she allowed her eyelids to lift. Stunned, confused, almost guilty blue eyes blazed down upon her. They held hers momentarily, then blinked and started to descend. A quick sweep. Down her body, then back up again. Assessing. Almost…professional. And yet Rosalie didn’t miss the shards of heat he hadn’t been quick enough to hide.
    Naked. Female.
    She couldn’t care less. She had never been a prude. With or without fur, she was Pantera.
    As he stared at her, Rosalie took stock of her situation. No longer did those ropes encircle thick puma limbs. On her female wrists and ankles the coils were loose. He hadn’t noticed. Her mind revved. Keep his eyes on yours as you slowly slip from your bindings .
    As she moved a centimeter at a time out of the ropes, she stared at him. She despised the way he looked. How tall he was—all the hard muscle, the close-cropped black hair, and the arrogant, sharp-angled face. But she especially