Page 13 of Bad Blood Panther

Chapter 6

Xander felt like he was coming out of a long, dark tunnel. After being run over by a train.

That happened way too often, after a wild night of panthermania.

Sometimes he could be perfectly normal and rational in cat form, if you didn’t count the urge to hunt small furry creatures and drop the bloody carcasses on people’s doormats. He could play-fight with his crew, lounge around in his favorite tree, even take cage-fighting lessons from Jaz and Brody.

And through all that, he was Xandercat—right there inside the panther brain the whole time, being all assholey and shit. His normal self.

But other times…

Other times the cat just took the hell over. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and he didn’t even know what his cat was doing. Only that it wasn’t good, and usually had something to do with being rageaholic and trying to kill people.

That was the part that would have convinced any other alpha but Flynn to put him down already.

And now he’d done it again. Just when he thought he was going to be able to keep it together for more than a few days, he’d had a full-on kitty blackout. The last thing he remembered was trying to bite someone in the neck…

Fuck. Jenny.

He sat bolt upright, panting, sick fear running through him.

It was still night, and he was in his own bed. There were bits of straw in his hair, which meant he’d been in the crazy shed.

Hopefully they’d chucked him in there before he hurt Jenny.

He got up, not even remembering to put clothes on, and raced through the trailer butt-nekkid. The living room was empty—none of his crew sleeping on the couch to make sure he didn’t go postal in the night.

That was different—usually they kept a better watch on him.

Then he checked the spare room—and stopped in his tracks. Jenny was asleep in there.

Somebody had made up the futon he’d salvaged off the side of the road, in his aborted quest to make the tiny second bedroom into a den or some shit. Lissa, probably, judging by the pink-butterfly sheets. That woman had an obsession with pink. It was barf-inducing.

But Jenny…

She was curled on her side, her wavy black hair spread out over the pillow, long lashes resting on a cheek flushed with sleep. She looked soft and vulnerable and pretty. He’d never realized just how pretty she was, all the time they were friends.

Now all he could see was the way the covers curved over her hips and dipped at her waist, and the way the tank top she wore was pulled to the side, showing an expanse of creamy-skinned breast.

Xander’s cat gave a little mrrrow inside him, and Xander felt the overwhelming desire to crawl under the covers, snuggle up behind her, cup his hand around her boob and kiss the back of her neck until she woke up and made sexy noises.

A wave of longing swept through him, and his dick tightened.

Oh fuck no.

Xander backed out of the doorway, all the way into the living room. No, no no no. He was not going to let his wonky-ass cat go crazy over Jenny, just because it wanted a mate like everybody else had. She had always been just his friend—someone he could talk to, grab some beers with, take a drive and tell each other their hopes and dreams.

Hopes and dreams. That was a laugh. The dreams he’d told Jenny, lying back on the hood of his truck looking up at the stars—those were never coming true. Not now.

Jenny had introduced him to Cindi, and Cindi wrecked his life.

And Jenny had been a panther the whole damn time, keeping the most important part of herself hidden away from him. After Cindi Turned him, he’d figured Jenny knew all along what was going down.

So what the fuck was she doing here now? Why had she come to him, of all people? After all this time?

Sweet pretty help love care mate lick fuck mrrrow, said his cat.

Dammit.