It had been two weeks since JF had fled the jungle.

Two long fucking weeks since he’d last touched or seen Stacey.

An eternity.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she was. She’d returned from the island two days ago, having chosen to remain with the rest of her crew—who suddenly decided they needed to work on their tans, or so they claimed during the chaos that followed—as they sifted the remains of the camp. Yes, he’d kept fucking tabs on the case. Not that there was much left to discover. The fire from the helicopter had spread and destroyed most of the evidence. With Jan gone, the main link to the smuggling and other products, one could only hope they’d eradicated the threat. And now at least the shifters were forewarned and could keep a watchful eye.

Things could return to normal.

JF had fled before all that, though. Run back home with his wings tucked. He couldn’t stay, and it wasn’t as if she needed him anymore.

I do. He starved without her near. Not just because he craved her blood; it went deeper than that. His soul, his very essence, mourned her absence.

He’d surely get over it. A little distance was all he needed. He managed to get away from her, and yet not one second went by that she didn’t fill his thoughts. That he didn’t crave her. It put him in a rather permanently shitty mood, shittier even than usual.

His boss remarked on it from their control booth overlooking the club, a club they’d had to relocate after a fire had destroyed the last one.

“You know, most people come back from a tropical paradise with a tan and a smile.”

“I hate the sun.” Hated even more the fact that the world around him had lost all color. His life had returned to normal—dull, gray, and meaningless. The last time it happened, a woman had betrayed him. Left him for dead.

This time…I’m the reason for my own misery. He’d left. Not Stacey.

When those crazy lionesses had barged in on him and Stacey in the jungle, joking and eyeing him, some even taking pictures, he’d eyed the chaos that surrounded them with horror.

What had he been thinking? Not only had he drunk from Stacey, slaked his thirst like a man in a desert, he’d allowed himself to become attached to her.

Attached to a woman who would bring noise and more felines into his life.

Was he insane?

In that moment of clarity, he’d slipped away. With the pride on site, ready to take over the scene of the crime, and surround Stacey, he was no longer needed.

So he fled. Fled and hid like a fucking coward from the one woman who made him feel truly alive. A woman who wanted to shake up his sterile world.

It was for the best, and maybe eventually he’d believe it.

“By the way, I will need you on the floor tonight,” Gaston remarked. “Reba’s throwing a bachelorette party for one of her friends.”

“Which means cats.” He made a face.

“I prefer to think of them as our friends and allies.”

“Why couldn’t you be like other rich dudes and get a dog?” JF grumbled as he exited the office. For a moment, he stood at the top of the stairs, staring over at the sea of heads.

Busy night tonight. Then again, every night rocked and rolled. Ever since Reba had started dating Gaston, the entire cryptid community now seemed to think the club was their spot for partying.

The hard techno beat pulsing from the speakers washed over him, making it impossible to hear. But then again, he didn’t need to hear. He could feel. Awareness prickled his skin.

She’s near. A connection he wanted to deny existed between them.

His gaze scanned the room, but so much movement and color proved distracting, not enough, though, to prevent him from locating her.

Standing poised at the top of the stairs, he stared. Stacey looked as ravishing as ever. She made her way through the crowd of patrons, dressed in peacock colors, the dress a bright turquoise trimmed with gold, blues, and green. Her fiery hair was swept upwards and bound with a ribbon, revealing her lithe neck—a fucking tease to someone like him. Coming out of the top of the bun, peacock feathers that bounced.

I wouldn’t mind seeing her bounce atop me. Lust grabbed him, fast and furious.

The tight bustier that cinched in at the waist flared over the hips, and peeking from beneath that, a tiny tutu skirt. At the back trailed a scarf of striated peacock colors.

Only Stacey had the type of confidence to wear such a thing and look delectable.

In one hand, she held a tray upon which sat glasses, several of them in various pastel shades. There were also a few fluted glasses holding red wine. Her other hand balanced another tray with smaller shot glasses filled with clear liquid. The sliced lemons gave away the tequila part.

Lots of booze. She planned to get wild.

I don’t care. Let her get wasted.

And yet he kept peeking over at the room she’d disappeared into. The room Gaston would have a stashed a private party in.

He was supposed to keep an eye. The boss said so.

Don’t go in there.

Was he afraid he couldn’t control himself?

Yes.

Two weeks had done nothing to curb his hunger; rather it had honed the craving. Made it burn inside.

The beast within hungered.

Before JF knew it, he stood outside the room. He could hear the raucous laughter of women, lots of women, but only one with the clear silver-bell laughter.

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing through the large arch, pushing past the gauzy curtains shielding the room from casual observance.

There lacked the bright flashing lights of the club proper, the lighting in here much dimmer and soft. Couches lined the walls, occupied by women, most of them golden-haired. Some sat on them, others perched on the backs. Their styles ranged from casual grunge to designer boutique with heels.

The highest heels belonged to Stacey. And they were sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. As for their owner? She and several others had discovered the fabric hanging from the ceiling. They wound themselves in it that they might do an aerial dance, coiling and uncoiling within the length of the fabric, rolling upwards and then dropping down, looking as if she would fall.

He reached forward, only to snatch his hand back.

Don’t go in.

He should leave. But he couldn’t. Her gaze caught his. Something electric sizzled between them.

He could almost hear her whisper.

There you are.

Something pulled at him. He took a step inside before realizing he was losing control again.

He had to be stronger.

Unable to stay here, close enough that she muddled his thoughts, he turned away and pushed through the crowd in the main room, heading for the front doors where he could let some fresh air fill his lungs. It would do him some good to clear his head.

As he exited, more patrons poured in, a gang of guys dressed to the nines in suits and dress shirts and smelling very panther-ish. Damned cats, multiplying everywhere.

One of them, a tall fellow with slicked-back hair, stopped him. “I’m here for a bachelorette party.”

“Inside, back room,” JF declared. He tried not to care that these men would be joining the ladies.

I thought bachelorette parties were supposed to be guy-free.

Except for the strippers.

He straightened from his slouch against the wall. A man getting naked and shaking it in front of Stacey?

He didn’t care.

So why was he going back inside?

And why were there people screaming?

“Gun!”

Bang. Bang.

He heard the gunfire and went shoving back in, the flow of people escaping impeding his path.

“Get out of my way.” He parted the sea of bodies, his heavy stomp separating the flow that he might cross the club.

By the time he got to the back room, where of course trouble just had to occur, there were only a few women left, felines handcuffed to the stripper poles in each corner that Gaston had installed when he relocated the club.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, his gaze darting from face to face. All shocked. None harmed. And one missing.

“It’s Stacey’s ex,” exclaimed Reba. “He just showed up with his crew and threatened us with guns.”

“And managed to capture you all?” Seemed rather unlikely.

“Your security sucks,” Luna declared.

“Don’t get pissy at me because they got the drop on you,” he growled. “Where’s Stacey?” Because he didn’t see her bright red hair anywhere.

“He took her!”

“Threatened us all with a gun if she didn’t go with him.”

“I think he might want to hurt her,” another woman added.

What?

He might have roared the word; he wasn’t too sure. He kind of lost his mind as he tore to the nearest exit door, following the scent of the panthers. Smashing into the alleyway, he noted the distant blink of red taillights. And a single feather on the ground.

The monster broke free.