His Wicked Touch Read online

  He'd trembled at the possibility of succumbing to the change while she was still in his bed. Could he, in the madness that took him as he changed into feline form, prevent himself from mauling that perfect specimen of female flesh? He didn't think so. He was a killer, a beast. That was, after all, why he'd confined himself to this private hell, a majestic black panther who lived only to entertain the masses that wandered the paths of the Audubon Zoo.

  Like all of the unknown others of his family, Luc went through life in the body of a man but with the soul of a panther. And at times, the panther fought to get out.

  When the curse came, it was hard and brutal, attacking both body and mind so that Luc lost all control. He would lose minutes, sometimes hours, and when his senses returned, he'd find himself in feline form, often hungry and on the prowl.

  The change could never be predicted, sometimes not coming for weeks, other times coming two or three times in a day. But once the madness passed and self-awareness returned, he could shift back into human form at will. Or he could remain feline.

  That was how he'd stayed at the zoo for so long. He'd simply stayed a panther.

  Before he'd come here, he'd tried to live a normal life, tried to pass as truly human. It had been easier before his parents had died. Geneticists, his parents had adopted him after his birth mother had committed suicide, leaving him and his twin lost and alone. The infant boys had become wards of the state, and eventually, his brother had been adopted. Luc often mourned their separation and hoped that his brother had been as fortunate as Luc. The couple that eventually took Luc into their home and their hearts had truly loved him. Even more, as scientists, they’d understood him.

  The first time the change had come on him, they’d been shocked. Terrified, even. But they’d loved him enough to see behind the horror, and that belief in him was what had kept him sane. What still bolstered him in his darkest of days.

  Genetics, they'd said. Not magic. But Luc knew it didn't matter what they called it. There was only one cure—sex. And even that wasn't a real cure. Sex with his life mate would stave off the change, but even that was only temporary. Not only that, but the odds of finding that one woman in all the world were ridiculously slim.

  Cursed, he'd fumed.

  Science, his parents had answered with patient resolve. Pheromones and hormones, and all controllable with time, with practice.

  But when puberty hit, they'd put bars on his room, so that when the change came, he would be out of harm's way. He hadn’t yet learned that control, after all.

  Still, life had been bearable while his parents had lived. They'd tried to teach him control, to give him the skills to keep some shred of humanity during those first lost moments during the change. And they'd promised him that a permanent cure did exist. They just didn't know what or how.

  After his parents had died, his world had been turned upside down. He'd searched for his mate each night, instinct telling him that she was in New Orleans, that she would find him. But his efforts were to no avail, and he was careful to spend every night in his cage. Such precautions were insufficient, however. On one tragic day, the change had come, fast and furious, and Luc had been unable to grasp the control his father had sworn was possible.

  He'd failed. He was cursed. And he'd confined himself in this feline habitat, hoping against hope that somehow, some way, his mate would wander past his cage.

  His days had been filled with disappointment. Woman after woman had passed in front of him, but he hadn’t found the female who could quell the fire that burned within him. Whose humanity, once meshed with his own, could stifle the demons in his soul.

  Then the dark-haired woman had come, and for the first time, he’d hoped. But for nineteen long months, that hope had been nothing more than a warm glow in his belly.

  Now, that glow had transformed into a raging inferno.

  Now, he knew.

  He didn’t know what had changed today, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that his hope had been borne out.

  Today, he'd seen into her soul, felt her being, and had known.

  She was the one. His mate. His cure.

  And he would have her.

  Chapter Two

  She was on Bourbon Street, and she was all alone. No tourists, no business owners, no cops. Just Cate ... and someone following her. Neon lights advertising nude girls and cheap liquor flashed around her as if lighting a path to her damnation. She stifled a shiver and ran the other direction, into the shadows, into the dark.

  The pad of footsteps reached her ears, soft and steady, and Cate's breath caught. She reached for her gun, wanting to turn on her stalker once and for all, but he wasn't there.

  She wore a silky negligee, and though the streets were empty, copper eyes peered from windows that looked down on the alley. The wind whispered with a dozen voices. Give in, Cate. You are his. Give in ... give in...

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she twisted, trying to see her tormentor in the shadows. No one. And no sound in the night except the whisper of the wind.

  And then he was there, his hand on her breast, his lips on her neck. "Mine," he whispered, as he pushed the loose strap of her negligee off her shoulder. The garment slid down, the soft material cool against her hot skin.

  Her nipple peaked, and he rubbed it with the pad of his thumb. Then he lowered his head, his mouth closing over her breast, his teeth teasing and taunting her.

  She wanted to take his head in her hands and lift him up to face her, but she couldn't move, couldn't do anything but lose herself to the heat swirling in her body. She hadn't even seen his face, and yet she welcomed him with her body, with her soul. And with one low, desperate moan, she shifted, spreading her legs as she felt his hand cup her heat.

  Her sex throbbed, and she swallowed a scream of frustration. She wanted him, wanted him inside her, filling her.

  Possessing her.

  "Mine, Caitlyn," he whispered again. "Remember that you are mine."

  And then, without warning, he was gone, and she was knocked to the ground by the force of a leaping panther. The panther lashed out, attacking the man who'd been following her. Not her lover, but someone else. A dark man, with ragged hair and a dirty face. A flash of dark fur and claws, and then the stalker's knife clattered to the ground. It lay there in a pool of the man's blood as Cate screamed, the sound of her own voice drowned out by a single word that filled her brain, scaring her even more than the attack.

  Mine.

  * * *

  Cate jerked bolt upright from where she'd fallen asleep on the couch. Her heart beat so hard she was certain her ribs would crack. She tried to catch her breath, tried to slow her pulse, but the dream still held her in its clutches, and all she could feel was fear.

  This was too much. Ever since her birthday two weeks ago, dreams had been haunting her. Each time she closed her eyes, her head filled with dark, erotic thoughts of need and lust and possession. Someone wanted her, was looking for her, would find her.

  Even in her dreams, she couldn't hide.

  But that wasn't the worst of it. Those dreams had become familiar friends in contrast to the nightmares that came more sporadically. There'd been three so far, including the one she still trembled from. Each nightmare was awash in violence and blood, and in each one he seemed to be coming closer to possessing her completely.

  Except she didn't know who the hell he was. And, worse, the horrific foreboding in her mind was seeping out into real life. The sensation that she was being followed. That something was happening to her. That the world as she knew it was about to change, horribly and irrevocably.

  Cate shivered, the warm sunlight streaming in from her window no defense against the cold inside her.

  She was in so much trouble. And she didn't even know why.

  The sharp ring of her cell phone brought her back to her senses, and she levered herself off the couch then crossed the small room to grab her phone off the top of her ancient television. She checked the scree
n, saw that it was Adam calling, and knew immediately what he was going to say.

  "It's happened again," she said, her voice flat. Of course, it had. Another brutal attack. The third.

  She knew, of course, because she'd seen it. In her dream. She'd been right there, watching, just as she'd seen the others over the past ten days. Unable to do anything, to save anyone. Entirely powerless to help.

  "About an hour ago. The bastard clawed up some homeless guy this time. He survived, but he’s messed up."

  "Where? Let me get dressed, and I'll meet you."

  "Not necessary. Riz and Beauchamp took the call. I'm heading to the hospital to take a statement. But I can cover it. I know tonight's your big night."

  Cate took a deep breath. “Right. Sure. No problem."

  Adam laughed. "You're the only person I know who'd rather go to a hospital and interview a vic doped up on morphine than go to a black-and-white ball."

  "I have to give a speech," she said.

  "Just thank the nice people for your award and shake a lot of hands." To his credit, he didn't even try to tell her she'd be great. Despite trying to drag her out on her birthday, Adam knew she hated crowds. She loved kids, however, and the one community project that had drawn her in was the All Children's Fund, a charitable organization that helped underprivileged kids. She gave them her time and her money, and she’d logged the most volunteer hours in the past year. For that, she got an award.

  And had to give a speech.

  The thought was more terrifying than all her dreams put together.

  Her dreams.

  For a few moments, she'd actually pushed them from her mind, but now the memories returned, along with that constant looming sense of being watched.

  Forcing the dark thoughts aside, she said goodbye to her partner, then headed into her bedroom. She saw the black floor-length dress she'd laid carefully across the bed. With a little frown, she stripped down and stepped into it, twisting her arm into an awkward angle to do up the zipper in the back.

  Finally dressed, she headed toward her vanity and the single bottle of Chanel No. 5 she'd been hanging onto for years. It had been a splurge from her first paycheck when she made detective. A treat for herself in a life that had enjoyed so few.

  As she dabbed a bit on her pulse points, her eyes drifted toward the birthday bottle from Alma. She'd been tempted to pour the perfume into the lovely container, but she'd stifled the urge. A bottle like that was a showpiece. If it were ever going to hold perfume again, it would be some zillion-dollar-an-ounce concoction.

  Not that she ever intended to put anything in the bottle. It was too special, too different. Too—

  The bottle.

  Her pulse kicked up as the realization hit her. The dreams had started when she'd received the bottle. It had to be—

  But no. That was nuts. What on earth could a bottle have to do with her dreams?

  Besides, the dreams had started when she'd turned thirty, and that was a far better reason for nutty behavior than a perfume bottle, no matter how old or beautiful.

  With a wry grin, she picked up the bottle. Color swirled in the glass, drawing her in like some hypnotic dance. She stared, losing herself in the color. Reds meshed with purples, gold danced with green. And there, deep in those transient swirls, she imagined the coppery eyes of the panther—watching her and seeing all the way down into her soul.

  * * *

  Luc turned the shower on, then paced between the bathroom and the connecting bedroom as he waited for the water to heat. Tense and sore, his muscles screamed in pain. His pulse was rapid, his skin burning hot. He couldn't remember where he'd been for the past three hours, but still he knew. The blood on his hands was a testament to his whereabouts. To his sins.

  In the bedroom, he grabbed the remote and aimed it at the wall-mounted television. Sure enough, the local news was already covering the attack.

  "... marks the third mauling in the past ten days. This latest victim, whose identity is being withheld pending further police investigation, is currently in stable condition. While the community lives in fear, both police and zoo officials continue to search for the black panther that escaped from the Audubon Zoo..."

  The video cut to a shot of a harried detective on the steps of the police station. A young, blond reporter held a microphone to the detective’s face.

  "We have not confirmed that the panther is responsible for these attacks. While our forensic team has determined that many of the scratches are feline in nature, other factors such as location suggest a human culprit."

  "Someone taking advantage of the panther's escape?" the reporter asked.

  "Could be. At any rate, we won't know for certain until the perp is apprehended or a victim recovers consciousness and can give us a description. In the meantime, we advise all citizens to stay on alert and to contact the police if—"

  Luc clicked off the television. He'd heard enough.

  The nature of the maulings suggested a large feline had made the attacks. But some of the evidence pointed to a human. It was a conundrum, and one the police weren't prepared to solve. Never would they suspect that the culprit was both man and beast. But Luc knew. And the truth ate at his soul.

  He stalked back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the now-hot water pound away at the guilt ... and the blood. With a deep, guttural groan, he pressed his hands against the smooth white tiles and faced down, letting the pulse of water pummel the back of his neck.

  What the hell had he done? He should have moved to South America years ago and lived out his life in the wild. But he'd been selfish, wanting to harness his curse, believing he could find his mate.

  And so he'd stayed in New Orleans, waiting and watching. And then, two weeks ago, he'd finally found her, only to lose her again. But he knew she existed, and so he'd taken human form to facilitate the search. He'd end his curse. He was certain of it. But at what cost?

  Once before he'd tried to wrangle control, relying on his parents' belief, coupled with his own will and obstinate personality. But his parents had been wrong. Without his mate, control wasn't possible, not really. And in the end, his hubris had almost killed a child. That was when he'd confined himself to the zoo. Damn him to hell, hadn't he learned anything while he'd been in that self-imposed prison?

  He lifted his face to the stream as if that could wash away his regret. His shame.

  He'd go back to the zoo. He’d instruct Martin that when the next change came, Luc was to be restrained and captured. Even the possibility that he'd found his mate couldn't justify remaining free. Days had passed since he'd taken human form, and still he'd been unable to find her.

  Decided, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He’d entered the bedroom and was adjusting the towel around his hips when Martin knocked at the door, not waiting for a response before he entered.

  Though ostensibly the butler, Martin was in fact so much more.

  Now, Luc waited for him to speak, but Martin merely moved to the closet and pulled out Luc’s freshly pressed tuxedo.

  "I'll be leaving tomorrow," Luc said, hesitating only briefly before speaking. "This time, I don't intend to return."

  "I saw the news." The butler removed the tux from the garment bag. "I don't believe you are the culprit."

  "Then you're an old fool," Luc said. "Or have you already forgotten that you let me in the back door not thirty minutes ago naked and covered in blood?"

  "You have more control than you let yourself believe," Martin said. "You've always had more control."

  A sliver of anger cut through Luc's gut, and he thought of Clarissa Taylor, the little girl whose life he'd almost taken. "You don't know anything."

  "On the contrary, sir. I know everything. That's why you keep me in your employ."

  There was more truth in that than Luc wanted to admit. Martin had worked for Luc's parents and had been a constant figure in the Agassou household. In fact, it had been Martin who had "donated" the blac
k panther on behalf of millionaire recluse Luc Agassou. His employer, Martin had informed the zoo, was taking several years to tour Europe or else he would have been happy to attend the dedication of the new panther habitat.

  So, yes, Martin did know most of Luc's secrets. And he loved Luc like a father.

  And that was part of the problem. The man was too loyal, believing the best of Luc when Luc was quite aware that it was the worst that had been manifested over and over again. How else could he explain these maulings?

  "This isn’t up for discussion," he said. "I’m going back in the cage tomorrow. And you'll be the city's newest hero when you bring me in."

  Martin sniffed. "Nonsense. You're not going anywhere except to the All Children's Benefit tonight."

  "These attacks—"

  "Will stop once you're with the woman."

  A harsh finality laced Martin’s voice, and Luc cocked his head, afraid he was reading too much into the words and the tone. “Martin? Are you..."

  He trailed off, afraid to get his hopes up. He'd searched but had found no clues, much less the woman herself. Had Martin succeeded where he had failed?

  "I took it upon myself to visit the police station three days ago, following the last attack. I spoke with one of the detectives working the case. Caitlyn Raine. A lovely young woman. As it turns out, she enjoys visiting the zoo."

  But Luc barely heard those last words. How could he, when music had filled his head and his heart the moment he heard her name?

  Caitlyn Raine.

  She was the one—he was positive. His Caitlyn.

  His mate.

  The fact that she was a detective assigned to find him snarled his plans up a bit, but Luc wasn't worried. This woman belonged to him, and he would have her. He smiled. Perhaps he'd been too hasty in planning a return to the zoo after all.

  "And she’ll be at the benefit?"

  In answer, Martin merely opened a dresser drawer and withdrew a bowtie. "If you’d get dressed, you might even make it to the function on time. I’d hate for you to arrive so late that the lady has already left."