Escaping Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Acknowledgements

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  Escaping Love

  Book Two in the Koning Clan Series

  Written By Debra Smith

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Copyright © May 2013, Debra Michelle Smith

  Cover Art by Tricia Pickyme Schmitt

  Edited by Em Petrova

  Escaping Love is a work of fiction and the characters, events, and dialogue found within the story are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author. Unless used in a review. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to give a special thanks to Maryse’s Book Blog for inspiring me to read PNR which lead me to my writing and to the Goodreads group PNR NaUBA.

  Also a huge thanks to all the other Bloggers and reviewers that take the time to support me by writing a review and reading my work.

  Thank you to my family for supporting my efforts by giving it to me straight whether I wanted to hear it or not. ;-) Love you more than words can say.

  Sincere and special thanks to Gary Taylor for helping me past my writers block and providing the inspiration I needed.

  Most important I would like to thank my readers for their continuing support and sticking with me through my writing journey.

  Chapter One

  Running. Running used to be freedom, now it was her only chance of survival. The feeling of leaves and grass against the pads of her feet, the moist smell of earth, the way the trees would open their branches like a mother opening her arms to a long-awaited child— gone. Now shadows that used to hold wonder only held fear. The night used to be something that called to her, but now only served one purpose—a chance of escape from her life.

  One she never wanted.

  She lifted her muzzle to scent the air. Upwind, she held the advantage. Taking a moment to suck in much needed air, she stopped and rested. The pounding of her heart was the only familiar sound in the foreign woods. To think she made it all the way to Colorado from South America. Her, the most delicate of her family.

  She snorted. Delicate, her ass. She had to be smarter, faster, and more lethal than all the males of her Clan. What was the saying? Practice made perfect. Wrong. Practice at perfection made her the perfect predator. Say that five times fast.

  She lived for the hunt. But because of some stupid prophecy, she was to be a treasure to her people. Never allowed to see the outside world.

  The rays of the full moon danced across her white fur, giving off a luminescent glow. So what if she was rare. So what if she was the only white panther to be born in the last four-hundred years. She was still a person with her own thoughts, desires, and dreams. That’s why she was heading to the middle of nowhere. If she could plead her case to Jenifer Koning, then maybe her father would have to listen to reason.

  She growled at the reminder of why she had to travel such an impossible distance. Her father planned on selling her to some man with a big pocketbook. He told her it was for the good of her Clan. It was her duty to follow tradition. Her soul was being torn in two. Her loyalty to her people demanded she turn around, beg forgiveness, and fill the role her Clan required of her. She could be the quiet and proper lady stuck in a mating void of love but her home would be better for it.

  Home. Her heart squeezed at the thought. If her animal half could cry, tears would be streaming down her cheeks. A simple four letter word held so much weight. Her grandmother had always told her that her Clan was her home and she should always do what she could to make the lives of her people better.

  It was more than just her responsibility it was her purpose. But as the Presentation to the Clans drew closer she fled. Something inside her refused to accept her fate. Maybe fear, maybe the hope that she could still help her people without be stuck in a loveless mating. Was it selfish? Probably. It didn’t matter because she’d chosen her path and now she had to follow it no matter the twists and turns it presented. Life could be cruel. Her little sister had died at a young age, leaving her broken, because it was her fault. She couldn’t save Katrina and now she was the only remaining heir to her father’s title. Everything rested on her shoulders. If she could only plead her case to the one woman who might understand.

  Tales of the queen reached far and wide. Jenifer defied the archaic rules of their world when she entered the Slag, the tournament of kings. Kings not queens being the important word. Jenifer was the only woman in their history to attempt to change her fate. Until now. Alexandria would be the next. She had to be.

  That’s why she ran from her Clan, more importantly her father. Part of her never thought she would make it all the way to North America from her home deep in the Brazilian jungle. Weeks of travel had taken a toll on her body, and exhaustion threatened her every step. Soon, she told herself. Internal strength she liked to think came from her grandmother was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

  There. Light shined through the trees. Relief gave her the extra strength she needed. Gryph’s flashed in blue neon lights over the imposing red doors with a bouncer perched to the side. Crap. His height and massive arms crossed over his chest seemed less than inviting. How to play this? Her human appearance was meek to say the least. Maybe she could seem unimposing and just walk right in. Yeah right, a girl could dream.

  In the center of her inner light, Alex pictured her human form. The change wasn’t painful, at least not after the very first shift. Magic allowed them to keep their clothes intac.t staying with their human form. The only drawback was that unlike the animals in nature, their color matched in both their human and animal forms.

  Branches scratched her exposed skin while she parted the bushes. Sashaying toward the bouncer, she tried not to hold her breath. His scent hit her nose. A bear. Great. This close to winter he could be especially grumpy.

  His nostrils flared, and brief look of confusion crossed his face before he schooled his features.

  “Hi,” she said in a sweet, sing-song voice.

  He grunted.

  Great, this could be harder than she thought. “I’m looking for Jenifer Koning. I request an audience.”

  Another grunt.

  Claws pricked at the tips of her fingers, bringing a burning pleasure. Calming her temper, she did her best not to expose her best-kept secret.

  “Is she here?”

  His response, “Clint, we have a live one, again.”

  Again? What was that supposed to mean? Her ears tingled as she struggled to hear the voice on the end of the line. From the bear’s wince it wasn’t looking good. For him or for her.

  “Go on in. Stay out of trouble.”

  Gritting her teeth before she gave him a reason to hibernate, she pulled open one of the big red doors.

  Alex took her time entering the bar. She needed to seem as if she had every right to be there. She
couldn’t risk them kicking her out before she could plead her case to their queen. An old Vince Gil song flowed from the jukebox. Red, faded booths and barstools filled the space. The scent of fried food assaulted her nose. Doing her best not show her repulsion, she let her gaze drift to the bar and the male striding toward her.

  Good lord, he was fine. Faded blue jeans clung to his muscular legs as the stomping of his cowboy boots echoed through the air. A green and blue plaid shirt with the top buttons unfastened revealing the tan skin of his chest, and rolled sleeves resting just below his elbows showed off his muscled forearms. The one on his right was tattooed, but she didn’t risk getting lost in its puzzle. Dusty blond locks hung in his eyes, and a five o’clock shadow covered his jaw. Firm lips pressed into a flat line temporarily distracted her from his intense blue eyes. She’d never seen such eyes. Feeling like a woman in a cliché black and white film, her world froze in time. She felt completely mesmerized by the fire in his gaze. Her skin burned, heating from the inside out, but she couldn’t stop shivering. Her mind raced to understand why her lungs refused to function and her body froze. For a moment she could swear he could see into her soul and every inner secret she dared not tell anyone else.

  His mouth moved and she blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  An irritated rumble sounded in his chest. “I said, who are you?”

  “Alex.” After listening to his sweet drawl, she felt a small sensation of being welcome. And then it was gone.

  His eyes narrowed in what had to be irritation. “What’s your full name and Clan?”

  The cowboy was smarter than he looked. Hot and intelligent, be still her quaking knees. Wait, her knees were trembling. Placing her hand on the bar, she braced her body. The room started to spin. She shook her head, trying to gain focus. Alarm spread through her at the thought of showing weakness in front of him. This male was definitely a predator, and the last thing she wanted to do was fall at his feet.

  Exhaustion slammed into her like a test car into a cinderblock wall. Her knees buckled, sending her forward into his awaiting arms. His concerned face was the last thing she saw.

  ~****~

  Clint was having one hell of a day. Gryph called to inform him of his extended honeymoon. Fuck. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he wished his friend the best. Bitter jealousy coated his tongue and he hated himself for it. Gryph deserved to be happy after everything that happened to him.

  Clint couldn’t imagine losing most of his family at the age of twelve. Discovering the mangled bodies of his parents and little sister had almost crippled his friend. If Clint hadn’t been there, Gryph would have joined them. Gryph’s brother, a lone wolf, never showed up to claim the title of Clan leader leaving everything on Gryph’s pubescent shoulders.

  They made quite the pair. Both alone even thought they had each other. Unlike Gryph, Clint didn’t know who his family was. He was raised by an old bobcat by the name of Clara in Wyoming. She stumbled upon Clint while checking her fences. Growing up with a group of unwanted orphans didn’t change the fact that he had no past and therefore no future.

  Well, at least he had the bar. It kept him sane. But lately it was beginning to attract a certain kind of trouble. Females. The one currently strolling into the bar as if she owned the joint made him pause mid-step. Moon beams for hair and bright green eyes complete with full pouty lips topped a small, curvy frame.

  Hell, if she was pressed against his body she would probably not even reach his chin. His cock stirred beneath his jeans, suggesting he find out for sure. Anger surged at his body’s reaction. Unwillingly, his gaze roamed over her body, pausing on the generous curves of her breasts and hips.

  Fighting an unfamiliar desperation, he stomped toward her.

  Then her gaze locked with his. He sucked in a breath as though a horse kicked him in the gut. Trouble. His nostrils flared, bringing in the scent of orchids and fresh rain. God, he loved the smell of rain.

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my bar?”

  She blinked at him as if he hadn’t even spoken.

  “I said, who are you?”

  Blood drained from her face as her body swayed. Shit, he must have scared her. Then her knees buckled, sending her to the floor. Instinct took over. His arm snaked under her knees and around her middle. Lifting her to his chest, he paused. What was he going to do with her now? Deftly, he pushed his earpiece to contact Clay.

  “Listen, I need you to close up tonight.”

  A grunt sounded on the other end, the bear walked through the door and growled at the few remaining patrons, sending them scurrying out the door like mice when you turned on the barn light. Clint shook his head and sighed.

  “Just try not to tear the place apart.”

  The bear gave him another grunt in reply.

  Man, that boy needed to work on his communication skills. The name of the bar should be Misfits. The way the place attracted loners was remarkable. A soft whimper drew his thoughts as he remembered the woman in his arms.

  Jesus, he couldn’t take her to Gryph’s house or leave her in the bar. What if she robbed the place? It wasn’t as if there was a Motel 6 around the corner. The nearest place to stay was a roach motel, one-hundred and two miles north. He wouldn’t wish the moldy used sheets on his worst enemy. Wait, he could let her sleep it off in her car. Yeah, that would work. Guilt caused him to hesitate.

  He nodded to Clay. “Which car did she drive up in?”

  He needed to know for sure. A lot of the patrons left their cars in the lot overnight in favor of shifting and running home. They knew their property would be safe at Gryph’s.

  “She didn’t.”

  Clint ground his teeth. Hell, the guy was probably trying. The two-worded sentence was more than he heard the bear say in a long time.

  “Didn’t what?” he gritted.

  Clay popped off the top of Budweiser and shrugged. “She walked.”

  Yep, definitely trouble. The last unattached female that just happened to “walk” through the big red doors altered thousands of years of tradition. He had the sneaking suspicion this one wouldn’t be any better.

  Back to his current problem. Where to put her? The only thing left was his cabin. At least he could keep an eye on her there.

  Yeah right, that was his only motivation.

  Cursing, he went out the back and took the left at the fork. The right led to Gryph’s brick mansion, the other lead to his rustic one-bedroom log cabin. His body tensed as she nuzzled his neck, seeming to burrow into his warmth. Clenching his jaw to keep his groan from passing his lips, he increased his pace.

  “Fuck, what am I doin’?”

  The crisp night air gave no response except for the call of crickets and cicadas. Even they seemed to be mocking his situation. He quickened his steps. Strands of her silky hair tickled his arm. She murmured sleepily into his neck, causing him to misstep, but he recovered quickly. Had the path to his home always been this long?

  A soft vibration started where they touched. Was she purring?

  “Just great, she’s a cat.”

  There. Finally, he could see his home. His cabin rested at the edge of the pine forest. A small meadow was at the front. A blanket of stars and the full moon filled the night sky. This far from the city you could see the Milky Way. He didn’t understand why people wanted to live in cities. It smelled of refuse, concrete, and metal. Kind of like death. The mountains made you feel alive, as if you were part of some bigger plan.

  The wood step creaked a welcome as it absorbed his weight. A few more feet and she would be in his cabin. What would she think of his home? Yeah it was small, but it was cozy, offering everything a man needed to be happy. He frowned. What the hell did it matter if she liked his place or not? It wasn’t like she’d be sticking around. Truth was he needed to find out who she was and get her back to her Clan. No doubt she’d be alarmed to find herself in a strange place with an unfamiliar male. The last thing he needed was a Clan war while Gryph a
nd Jenny were on their honeymoon.

  He pushed open his front door using the edge of his boot. A small lamp with an aspen base glowed in the corner. He pressed his lips in a thin line as he soaked up the scene of his living room. A secondhand couch, complete with broken-down cushions and fraying edges was his centerpiece. It smelled burnt on account of the particularly cold winter he slid it too close to his airtight stove.

  His end tables where hand crafted Aspen, drawn and cut by his own hands; they were nothing fancy but they suited him. Antlers decorated his walls and faded, brown rug rested at the base of his couch just big enough to keep the chill from the hardwood from penetrating to his feet. What he thought was comfortable—cozy even—now seemed like a collection roadside refuse.

  He couldn’t let her sleep in here. His gaze fell to her relaxed face.

  She had small smudges of dirt on her nose and cheeks, but the skin beneath was smooth, perfect. Her hands were soft and supple, obviously not familiar with physical work. Her nails were perfectly manicured and her hair expertly cut. Whatever her position in her Clan, she wasn’t on the bottom of the totem pole, that was for sure.

  Worry made him pause before continuing. He should just take her back to the bar. At least she’d probably recognize it when she woke. He started to turn, but his wolf paced in his mind. When she collapsed instinct demanded he protect her. The bar had too much traffic even though it would be empty tonight. Tomorrow the regulars would file in bright and early.

  He could close it but the locked door would draw too much suspicion. He needed to keep her safe until he could arm himself with more information. She wouldn’t like it, Hell he didn’t like it, but she’d have to stay with him where he could protect her.

  Yeah, right. Who was he kidding? Having her in his home delighted him in a way he didn’t want to analyze too closely.

  As quietly as a man weighing two-hundred-fifty pounds and standing at about six-three could, he carried her to his bedroom. It was the best he could do. Clint did his utmost to clinically strip her outer layer of clothes from her body.