Page 1 of Panther Heart's Secret Passion
Chapter One
Adrienne
I eased my beat-up sedan into Mistvale’s main drag, the tires crunching on gravel as I parked outside the Pinewood Diner. My heart was thumping, not from the drive but from the buzz of a story that could finally put my name on the map. I had been chasing leads on sabotaged logging equipment, chainsaws with cords sliced clean through, bulldozers scratched up with deep, claw-like gashes. Corporate cover-up, I figured, maybe some shady deal to dodge environmental regulations. My editor at the Gazette had given me a week to dig up something juicy, and I was not about to let it slip.
Inside the diner, the air smelled of fried eggs and stale coffee. I slid into a red vinyl booth, the seat creaking under me, and ordered a coffee from a waitress with a tired smile. The brew was bitter, but I sipped it anyway, my ears tuned to the chatter around me. A couple of old-timers at the counter were grumbling about ghostly howls in the woods, their voices low like they did not want to be overheard. A woman in a flannel shirt mentioned shadows moving too fast to be human. I jotted itdown in my notebook, my pen scratching as I pretended to read the menu.
Across the room, a logger in a worn jacket caught my eye. His hands were rough, calloused, and he kept glancing out the window like he was expecting trouble. I grabbed my coffee and walked over, sliding into the chair across from him. "Mind if I sit? I am Adrienne, just passing through."
He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "David," he said, voice gruff. "What do you want?"
"Heard about the logging equipment getting wrecked," I said, keeping my tone light. "Sounds like a mess. You know anything about it?"
David’s jaw tightened, his fingers tapping the table. "Yeah, it has been bad. Chainsaws cut up, bulldozers clawed to hell. I saw something out there one night, a tall figure, moving fast near the equipment. Too dark to see clear."
My pulse quickened. "A person? Someone sabotaging the gear?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting to the door. "Do not know. Did not stick around to ask. It is bad luck to talk about it."
"Come on, David," I pressed, leaning closer. "You saw something. What was it?"
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. "Look, lady, drop it. You do not want to mess with what is out there." He tossed a few bucks on the table and walked out, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Back in my booth, I checked my phone. An anonymous email from last night had tipped me off about a hidden trail in the forest, one the loggers avoided. It was a lead I could not ignore. I paid for my coffee, grabbed my jacket, and headed out, the afternoon sun already dipping behind the trees. Mistvale was tucked in the Pacific Northwest, surrounded by ancient foreststhat seemed to swallow the light. The air was cool, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth.
I found the trailhead just off a logging road, barely marked, overgrown with ferns. My flashlight was clipped to my belt, my notebook tucked in my pocket. The forest was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that makes your skin prickle. I hiked deeper, the fog rolling in, curling around the trees like smoke. My boots sank into the soft earth, and I kept my eyes on the path, though it was getting harder to see.
A twig snapped behind me, and I froze. My flashlight flickered, the beam cutting through the mist. "Hello?" I called, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. Nothing answered, but the hairs on my neck stood up. Then I heard it, a low, rumbling growl, like something big was close. I swung the flashlight around, catching a glimpse of movement in the shadows. Before I could react, a cloaked figure lunged, amber eyes glowing like fire in the dark.
I stumbled back, my breath catching, but before I could scream, a blur of motion slammed into the figure. A man, tall, dark-haired, with piercing green eyes, tackled the attacker, pinning it to the ground with a speed that did not seem human. The cloaked thing thrashed, snarling, but the man held it down, his muscles tense under his jacket.
"Get back!" he shouted at me, his voice sharp but smooth, like he was used to giving orders.
I stepped back, my heart racing, but I was not about to run. "What the hell is that thing?" I demanded, aiming my flashlight at the figure. Its cloak was tattered, and those amber eyes locked onto me before it wrenched free and bolted into the trees, vanishing in the fog.
The man stood, brushing dirt off his jeans, and turned to me. "You okay?" he asked, his tone softer now, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back.
"Yeah, I am fine," I said, catching my breath. "Who are you? And what was that?"
"Name is Allen Orr," he said, offering a half-smile that did not reach his eyes. "Local wilderness guide. That was just some drifter, probably high on something. You should not be out here alone."
I crossed my arms, studying him. He was tall, lean but strong, with a face that was all sharp angles and charm. Those green eyes seemed to see right through me, and for a second, I felt a weird warmth in my chest, like a pull I could not explain. I shook it off. "A drifter with glowing eyes? Come on, Allen, I am not stupid. What is going on here?"
He chuckled, but it was tight, like he was deflecting. "You are a city girl, are you not? Forests are full of weird stuff. Why are you out here anyway?"
"I am a journalist," I said, straightening up. "Adrienne Phelps. I am looking into the logging equipment sabotage. You know anything about it?"
His smile faded, and he glanced into the trees, like he was listening for something. "Heard about it. Loggers talk. But you are poking around in dangerous places. This forest is not safe at night."
"Then why are you here?" I shot back, my curiosity flaring. "You just happened to show up when that thing attacked me?"
"Lucky coincidence," he said, his voice smooth again, but I caught a flicker of something, maybe guilt, in his eyes. "Come on, let me walk you back to town. You do not want to be out here when it gets dark."
I wanted to argue, to press him for answers, but that growl still echoed in my head, and the fog was getting thicker. "Fine," I said, "but I am not done asking questions."
He grinned, and damn if it was not disarming. "Did not think you were."
We started back, the forest closing in around us. Allen moved like he knew every inch of the trail, his steps sure even in the dim light. I noticed how he scanned the trees, his head tilting slightly, like he was listening to sounds I could not hear. "You know this place pretty well," I said, trying to keep my tone casual. "You grow up here?"
