Shifters' Captive:Magical Menages 1(2)

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.

Walker put his water bottle on the floor beside him. "All right. Here's  your proof. It's clear we're not going to make any headway without it."

He rose to his feet and moved several yards away from her, which, in the  small cabin, took him to the wall. He pulled his gray T-shirt over his  head and threw it on the floor, kicked off his shoes, unfastened his  jeans and pulled them down his hips. He was naked underneath, and his  erect cock thrust before him, thick and dark.

Sherrie swallowed and clenched her water bottle. He was aroused by her  fear. That was how sexual predators worked. He'd come for her now, try  to rape her. All she had to bash him in the head with was this light  bottle and a few karate chops barely remembered from a class taken  nearly two years ago. Yet, despite her being paralyzed with terror, that  same perverse shiver of erotic interest shot through her at the view of  so much lean male muscle and taut skin.

As if guessing her fears, Walker paused. "I told you. I'm not going to  hurt you. But you won't believe me without a demonstration, and I can't  do this with my clothes on." Sherrie stared at the crazy man standing  before her and braced herself.

The change was so subtle at first she thought her eyes were watering and  blinked. John Walker's face and body shimmered like an oasis mirage  seen through desert heat. It was as if he were melting like candle wax,  softening and liquefying. His face elongated, while his arms and legs  lengthened and grew thinner.

All of his proportions changed, and he went down on all fours. His hands and feet transformed into paws.

Dark gray hair, or rather fur, sprouted everywhere, covering his skin.  He grunted, but the only other sound was a wet squelching and a brittle  noise like ice cracking as his muscles and bones reconfigured into a new  shape.

Sherrie thought with spacey detachment. That looks as if it hurts like  hell. But if her mind was calm, her body reacted on a more primitive  level. She crab-scuttled backward across the floor while she screamed  and screamed and screamed.



The woman's shrieking went on and on, piercing his head with its  shrillness. He laid his ears back flat and curled his lips, baring his  teeth to show his disapproval. He commanded her to stop with a growl,  but that only made it worse.

She screamed again, threw her empty bottle at him and scrambled to her  feet. Her wide gaze darted frantically around the tiny kitchen area. A  couple of grocery bags sat on the counter. She picked up one and hurled  it at him with better accuracy this time. The bag hit him in the head  and knocked him backward. It fell to the floor, and canned goods and  vegetables spilled out of it.

He leaped sideways and circled around, cutting off her route to the  door. Must keep her here. His thought process worked differently when he  was in this form, but he was still aware of his other half with all its  needs and agendas. The woman was important, not like other humans, and  she wasn't to be harmed, no humans ever were. He couldn't let her go.  Not that she could outrun him even if she made it through the door.         

     



 

Tongue lolling, he moved closer and breathed in her scent, rich with  pheromones. Fear and sexuality oozed from her pores. His hackles rose  and his cock did too. He wanted her, wanted to mount her, even though  she wasn't one of his kind. Gathering strength in his haunches, he  leaped up and landed with his paws against her shoulders and his muzzle  on a level with her face.

She screamed, another knife-like wail that shredded his eardrums, and  pushed against him. But his weight bore her down, dragging her to the  floor with him on top of her. He wanted to fuck her, wanted her to turn  over on all fours so he could bury himself deep inside her. He wanted to  whine and bite her neck and come into her hard.

No. Not like this. The inner man pulled sharply on the leash connecting  him to his primal ego. John Walker struggled back to the surface,  gathering in the dark folds of his wolfish alter-ego and binding him.

The body shifted again, painful to do it twice so quickly.

The man re-emerged, smooth-skinned, two-legged, so limited compared to  his wolf strength and stamina. And still the woman beneath him screamed.  She'd damage her vocal chords if she didn't stop soon.

"Sh. Sh," he soothed, his hands braced against her shoulders and his  body pinning her flat. "I told you I won't hurt you. That's not what  we're here for." But his aroused body made it hard for her to believe  him.

Sherrie twisted and wiggled beneath him. His cock ached and strained  into the cheap polyester waitress uniform covering her soft belly. He  couldn't resist pushing, thrusting lightly with a rock of his hips.

John grunted and rolled off of her. "Sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"Hah!" She gave a sharp bark of laughter that sounded as harsh as her  screams and began laughing hysterically. She sat up and drew her legs to  her chest. "Don't know what came over you," she gasped through her  laughter. "That's good."

He grabbed his jeans off the floor and thrust his legs into them, pushed  his erection inside the fly and fastened it so fast he nearly caught  his sac in the zipper.

"Sorry to scare you, but you'd never have believed me otherwise." He sat  cross-legged, facing her. "I didn't do this lightly. I can count on one  hand the number of humans I know who know about our existence. And I  can count on one finger the number I've allowed to see me transform."  Her giggles abruptly cut off like water from a tap. "I'm honored," she  said dryly. "Why me? Why did this happen to me?"

"I told you, you're chosen or marked in some way. Divined as being someone important to the shifter world."

She rested her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands.  "Every kid daydreams about discovering they're magical or a super-hero,  but this isn't the kind of fantasy I had. This is a nightmare."

"It doesn't have to be." John touched her foot, the only part within his  reach. He didn't know if he meant to be comforting or if he simply  needed to make contact with her. He, who'd always been against shifters  mixing with humans, was undeniably attracted to her, and when he was  interested in a female, he had to touch. That was the way wolves  demonstrated affection: a playful nip, a bump of shoulder, a muzzle  rubbing their mate's neck, broadcasting sexual or friendly intentions.

Sherrie pulled her foot away as if he'd scalded it. Her face jerked up  from her cupped hands, and she glared at him. "What do you expect me to  do? How long are you going to hold me here?"

"As long as it takes to figure out what your part is in this."

"What if there is no part? What if it's all a big mistake? Will you let me go after what I've seen or is this like the Mafia?"

He smiled. "No, I'm not gonna whack you and I will return you home after  you've helped do whatever it is you're supposed to do." It was  frustrating not to have a better answer. He'd like to know why he was  holding her as much as she would. Was Anna really wise or was she going  senile?