HUNTED BY A JAGUAR Blog Barrage – January 14th

Kyter took a step back, his boots scuffing across the dusty stone floor in the old empty building, stooped and unzipped the main compartment of his backpack. He set down his guidebook, took out his canteen and straightened. The female eyed him, her blade still held at the ready. At least she hadn’t attacked when he had feigned dropping his guard.
He unscrewed the cap on his canteen and then put it back on as an idea came to him.
He set the canteen down on his backpack. Stood and stared across the narrow strip of ground to the female, making sure he had the whole of her attention. When he had assured himself that she was still staring at him, he grabbed the hem of his black t-shirt and pulled it up.
Her eyes shot wide.
“Wh-what do you think you are doing?” She edged back a step and her blade dropped a few inches before it came back up.
He smirked and pulled the top off over his head, taking his time about it and giving her a nice, leisurely look at his stomach and chest. He dropped the black tee on his pack and she stared at him. No blush. No problem. He could get one out of her.
He swiped the canteen from beneath his tee, unscrewed the cap and raised it above his head. He tipped half of the contents over the longer tufts of his short sandy hair. Water ran down his face and throat and over his chest, blissfully cool against his hot skin.
She stammered. “What

I

what?”
Kyter shot her his best smile as he scrubbed his hand over his hair, tousling the wet strands and squeezing more water from them. It ran in rivulets down his face and his body.
A blush scalded her cheeks.
Bingo.
“I’m hot,” he murmured and rubbed the water into his bare chest. “And a little dusty. I’m remedying that.”
Because he hated being dirty.
But he could be dirty for her.
She blinked and her mouth flapped but no words came out. Her gaze betrayed her and fell to his chest as he swept his hand across it. The heat on her cheeks flared hotter. She turned her back on him and every inch of her went rigid.
“Put some clothes on.”
He smirked. “I have clothes on. I’m damned if I’m going to boil to death for you. Prude. You don’t like what you see, get out of my territory.”
She turned on him, her green eyes flashing fire.
“I am not a prude

and this is not your territory.” Her left eyebrow slowly rose and she murmured, “Territory. You have said that twice now.”
And he wouldn’t say it again, because he preferred it when people couldn’t tell what he was. His mixed genes normally masked his jaguar scent, making it impossible for all but the most experienced fae and demons to detect his species. At her age, she had probably met several jaguars, and he was surprised she hadn’t figured him out yet.
He still didn’t have a damn clue what she was.
She lowered the blade to her side and smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes. Trying to play at his game? She was an awful actress. Too forced. Even the stupidest of males would have seen through her attempt to charm him.
She was going to be a tricky customer though. She wanted the artefact. He could see it in her eyes. He had animal magnetism to his advantage, and a better ability at acting, but something about her had him hungry for a taste of her, and he wasn’t sure it was purely her beauty or her gracefulness. If she took the stick out of her arse and really turned on the charm, he didn’t think he would be able to resist the fierce desire she stirred in him with only a look. Just thinking about it had him aching for her, growing hard in his combats.
He cursed himself for being too damn easy and turned away from her to look at the fresco, giving himself a moment to get his body back under control. He had to keep building on the foundations he had laid. He couldn’t give her a chance to pull herself back together. The quickest way to get in her good graces and get information out of her would be pretending to fall for her charms, giving her the impression she was in control of the situation, and then turning the tables on her.
The trouble was, he probably wouldn’t be pretending to fall for her poor attempts at seduction and he would probably forget all about the turning the tables part.
He felt her gaze roaming his back, intent and focused.
The scars on it burned.
Kyter whirled to face her, a growl rumbling through his chest, and she dropped her eyes to her boots.
“You not left yet?” he snapped and she straightened, pinning him with a glare.
“You have to leave.”
He shook his head and took a swig from his canteen. “Nope. I like it here.”
She pointed her blade at him again. “I have a weapon. You do not.”
Kyter slowly smiled. “Oh, I have a weapon. It’s around this big.”
He spaced his hands ten inches apart.
She blushed beautifully again. “You disgust me.”
“I was talking about a knife. I don’t know what you thought I was talking about

oh

man

you have a dirty mind.” He smirked as she huffed and turned away from him. Giving him her back? She either felt confident she could defend herself if he attacked, or she was beginning to feel he wasn’t a threat to her and was starting to trust him. “Name’s Kyter.”
“I have no interest in your name.” She swung her blade up onto her shoulder again and looked over it at him. “I shall call you Disgusting Pig.”
Kyter shrugged, luring her eyes back down to his body. “I’m not a pig.”
Her gaze jumped back up to his face and narrowed. “What are you?”
He shot her another smile. “I told you. I’m Kyter.”
Her huff filled the quiet room. “I should have named you Irritating.”
She looked as if she was considering leaving. Oddly, he didn’t want that to happen. He was enjoying playing with her. She had the most alluring little crinkle between her brows when he was frustrating her and he liked the way her eyes flashed green fire flecked with gold.
“Irritating is my middle name.” Kyter held his free hand out to her. “Most people call me Kyter.”
She slowly turned back to face him, looked at his hand, but didn’t take it. “Iolanthe.”
He bet a thousand men had told her what a pretty name she had. It suited her beauty. He was damned if he was going to be number one thousand and one though.
“So, Io.” He flinched when she shot down that attempt at friendliness with an icy glare and tried again. “Lanthe?”
She scowled and the sense of danger she constantly emitted grew stronger. “Do not shorten my name without permission.”
Tough customer.
He cleared his throat. If they were back at his bar, he would have offered her a drink to break the ice between them and get her to lower her guard. He cast a glance around the empty room, thinking about the arid ruins beyond it and the fact she wasn’t likely to want to leave this place to find a joint where they could share a drink. He didn’t want to leave either. He would have to do this the hard way.
Kyter offered her his canteen.
She raised an eyebrow at it. “What do you expect me to do with that?”
The unsteady edge to her eyes and her heartbeat said that she thought he meant her to toss water over herself in some sort of private wet t-shirt competition for his eyes only. While he wouldn’t say no to seeing her wet all over, it hadn’t been his intention and it was probably a little too soon for trying anything so risqué.
“Drink it.” He waggled the round container, feeling the water sloshing around inside it.
She shoved her palm towards it. “No, thank you.”
“You have no water. I saw your gear. You have a pick and nothing else.” He kept holding the canteen out to her. “You need to drink. You must be thirsty.”
She shook her head. “I have survived weeks without water before. I do not need it.”
Weeks? Impossible.
“You must need liquid to survive. There isn’t a species out there, fae or demon, or otherwise, that doesn’t need to replenish their liquid levels. If you survived weeks without water, what did you drink?”
Her green gaze slipped to his throat and quickly darted away.
Kyter’s pulse hammered frantically against his neck, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Blood.
All of his rushed south at the thought of this lithe female wrapped around him and sucking on his throat.
He stared at her, mouth hanging open.
Giving her the opportunity she had been waiting for.
She was before him in a flash, one leg around his and her free palm slamming like a freight train against his chest. She had him pinned on his back beneath her before he had even expelled the breath she had knocked from him with her blow.
He stared up at her where she crouched on his chest, her knees splayed and her arms between them, holding her black blade against his throat.
What the hell?
Little kitty had claws and it made the jaguar in him roar to the surface, shifting beneath his skin and itching to emerge and play with her.
“What are you?” she hissed, her green eyes narrowed with deadly intent on his. Dangerous. Beautiful. He breathed hard beneath her, stunned by how little she seemed to weigh as she sat perched on top of him. She growled through her teeth at him. “Why do you insist on going after the same artefact as I am?”
She pressed the blade harder against his throat when he didn’t respond, drawing blood when he swallowed.
Her eyes fell to her blade and his throat and widened, her rosy lips parting as she stared at the blood he could feel blooming from the shallow cut.
Beautiful.
She was agile, and dangerous, and intelligent, and fast too. Graceful. Incredible. Otherworldly.
His heart beat wildly. His blood thundered.
A primal urge to roar rushed through him and he was as hard as steel in his black combat trousers, aroused by the scent of her that swirled around him and her majesty as she held him pinned beneath her, a flicker of deadly intent in her eyes.
Gods. She was so damned hot. He wanted to sink his fangs into the nape of her neck and impale her on his cock at the same time, hearing her cry out her climax as he claimed her.
Kyter stilled.
Claimed her?
He reeled, staring up into her eyes through ones slowly growing wider as the answer beat within him like a drum. She tensed and pushed the sharp blade harder against his throat.
“I will not ask again.” A flicker of nerves danced in her eyes. Her hand trembled, making the blade shake.
Why? Had she felt it too?
It was undeniable.
But impossible.
He didn’t have a fated mate.
She hissed and shoved off him, leaving him lying in the dirt as she disappeared from his senses. Gone.
Kyter stared at the ceiling and the sliver of sky he could see through the gap between the roof and the building. Stars emerged, spotting the inky canvas with diamonds.
Every molecule of blood in his body and every instinct he possessed roared that he had a mate.
And she had just got away.
His blood heated at that. A primal urge to give chase went through him and he was on his feet in an instant, breathing hard as it consumed him. He growled low, letting the sound curl from his lips as he eyed the exit. The scent of the night washed over him, carrying her unique fragrance of rare flowers.
He wanted to hunt.
He wanted to hunt her.
The desire ran deep, driving him to stalk towards the exit and out into the cooling night. He tipped his head back and drew the air over his teeth, catching her scent. He savoured it, putting it to memory, taking his time as he drew her into his body. Just the scent of her had him painfully hard for her, salivating and hungry for more.
He still wasn’t sure what she was.
But she was his.
She belonged to him.
She would belong to him.
A slow smile spread across his lips.
She would come back to this place.
The hunt was on.
She could run, but she could never hide from him.
He always caught his prey.