Shifters' Captive:Magical Menages 1(3)

By: Bonnie Dee

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.

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