Page 5 of Panther Heart's Secret Passion
She shifted, guiding me closer, her eyes locked on mine as she pressed herself against me. The water swirled around us, warm and slick, as I entered her, slow at first, letting her adjust to the feel of me. She gasped, her head tilting back, her hands tight on my shoulders as she pulled me deeper. I moved with her, my shifter strength steady but gentle, my lips trailing along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. The bond burned between us, making every touch electric, every movement a claim. Her legs tightened around me, and I gripped her hips, our rhythm building, the water splashing with each thrust.
“God, Allen,” she breathed, her voice breaking as she clung to me, her nails digging into my back. I could feel her trembling, her body responding to every move, every kiss. I kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans as we moved faster, the steam rising around us like a veil. Her hands slid to my hair, tugging gently, and I growled again, my lips finding the sensitive spot behind her ear. She arched against me, her gasps echoing in the quiet, and I felt her tighten, her body shuddering as she reached her peak. I followed, the bond pulling me over the edge with her, a rush of heat and need that left us both breathless.
We collapsed against the rocky edge of the spring, still entwined, the steam clinging to our skin as we caught ourbreath. Adrienne’s head rested on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my arm. “Well,” she said, her voice husky but playful. “That was one way to warm up.”
I laughed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “You are gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
She grinned, propping herself up on one elbow. “Worth it, though, right?” Her eyes sparkled, but there was a softness there, something that made my chest ache. I wanted to stay like this, wrapped up in her, but the weight of my secret crashed back. Esoterra’s laws. Morris. The veil fragment in her pocket. I could not tell her any of it, not without risking everything.
The air turned colder, and I pulled away, standing to grab my clothes. “We should get out of here,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “It is getting late, and the night air is not great for you.”
She sat up, her eyes narrowing, hurt flashing across her face. “What, now you are worried about the cold? What is with you, Allen? One minute you are all in, and the next you are pulling back like I burned you.”
I winced, tugging on my shirt. “It is not like that. I just, we need to be careful, okay? This place, it is not as safe as it looks.” I hated the lie, hated the way her expression hardened, but I could not tell her the truth. Not about me, not about Esoterra, not about the danger she was in just by being near me.
She stood, grabbing her clothes and dressing quickly, her movements sharp. “Fine. But do not think you can just kiss me like that and then act like nothing happened. I am not some story you can drop when it gets tough.”
“Adrienne,” I started, but she held up a hand, cutting me off.
“Save it,” she said, her voice firm but quiet. “I get it. You have secrets. But I am not giving up on this, or on you.” She turned away, pulling on her jacket, and I felt like I had been punched. I wanted to tell her everything, to pull her back into my armsand make her understand, but the council’s warning rang in my head. No human can know.
As we dressed, my heightened senses caught a sharp tang in the air, a scent I knew too well: Morris. It was laced with menace, close, lurking in the shadows just beyond the ferns. He was watching us, and my blood ran cold.
Chapter Five
Adrienne
I drove back to Mistvale, my hands tight on the wheel, the shard in my pocket burning a hole in my thoughts. Its faint blue glow pulsed against my thigh, and Allen’s cagey behavior kept replaying in my head. That hot spring, his touch, the way he pulled away like I’d stung him, it was all too much. I needed answers, not just about him but about whatever was happening in these woods. The Misty Pines Motel came into view, but I could not sit still in that cramped room with its buzzing neon sign. Instead, I headed to the newspaper office, a small building on the edge of town that smelled of ink and burnt coffee. It was late, but I had a key, and the quiet was perfect for digging into what I had found.
Inside, I flicked on a desk lamp and pulled out the shard, setting it on a stack of old papers. Under a magnifying glass, it looked even stranger, its surface etched with tiny, swirling patterns that seemed to shift when I tilted it. The faint pulse was still there, like a heartbeat, and it gave me the creeps but also lit a fire under me. I fired up my laptop and started searchinglocal folklore, scrolling through grainy scans of Mistvale’s archives. There were vague mentions of ancient artifacts tied to forest myths, stories of lights in the woods and guardians who protected them. It was thin, but it was something, and I jotted it down, my pen scratching in the silence.
The door creaked, and Trisha, my editor, stomped in, her gray hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her voice, rough from years of smoking, cut through the quiet. “Phelps, you better have something for me. You have been here three days, and I am not seeing a story.”
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. “I am close, Trisha. There is sabotage at the logging sites, weird marks on the equipment, and some kind of artifact.” I held up the shard, its glow catching her eye.
She squinted, stepping closer. “What the hell is that? Looks like something from a sci-fi flick. You got anything solid to back this up, or are you chasing ghosts?”
“It is solid,” I said, though I was not sure myself. “I have photos, and I am meeting a source tonight. An ex-logger who knows something about the company. Just give me a little more time.”
Trisha crossed her arms, her frown deep. “Time is not free, kid. You have got two days to give me a draft, or I am pulling you back to Seattle. Do not make me regret sticking my neck out for you.” She grabbed a coffee mug and left, the door slamming behind her.
I sighed, my stomach twisting. Trisha was tough, but she was right, I needed more. Allen’s warnings kept nagging at me, his voice telling me to stay out of the forest, but I could not let it go. Not when I was this close. I checked my phone, rereading a cryptic text from my source, an ex-logger named Benjamin, who had agreed to meet me behind the Pinewood Diner at ten. Igrabbed my jacket and headed out, the shard tucked safely in my pocket.
The alley behind the diner was dark, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp. Benjamin was already there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes darting like he expected someone to jump him. He was older, with a scruffy beard and hands that shook as he lit a cigarette. “Are you Adrienne?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my distance. “You said you had something on the logging company. What is the deal?”
He took a drag, the smoke curling in the air. “They are dirty. Been funding some group, buying what they call rare pelts from the forest. Not normal furs, either. Weird stuff, like nothing I have ever seen. They pay big, but it is hush-hush. People who talk, they disappear.”
My pulse quickened. “Who is buying? And what kind of pelts?”
He shook his head, stepping closer. “I do not know names. But I saw one of their guys once, had a tattoo on his neck, like a claw mark. Creepy as hell. You need to watch your back, lady. They know you are poking around.”
I nodded, my mind racing. A claw-mark tattoo. That sounded too much like the cloaked figures who had chased me. “Thanks, Benjamin. If you hear anything else, you know how to reach me.” I slipped him a twenty, and he vanished into the dark, his cigarette glowing faintly as he went.
Back in my car, I could not sit still. The logging company was involved, and that tattoo was a lead I could not ignore. I checked my phone, pulling up a grainy photo I had snapped at the logging site, zooming in on one of the cloaked figures. There it was, on his neck, a claw-mark tattoo, just like Benjamin said. My gut told me to move, to follow this now. I had seen a company truck at the diner earlier, and when I drove by, it was pullingout, heading toward a forest road. I followed at a distance, my headlights off, the moon guiding me as I tailed it to a trailhead deep in the woods.
I parked a ways back and grabbed my flashlight, my boots sinking into the mud as I crept along the trail. The ground was thick with thorns, and one snagged my hand as I pushed through a bramble, the sharp sting making me hiss. Blood welled up, but I ignored it, too focused on the truck ahead. It was stopped, the driver talking to a man under a pine tree. I crouched behind a log, my breath shallow, and aimed my flashlight. The man turned, and I saw it, the claw-mark tattoo on his neck, stark against his skin in the dim light. My heart pounded. This was it, the link between the sabotage, the attackers, and whatever Allen was hiding.
