Instinctive - By Cathryn Fox Page 0,64

“What are you planning?”

Truthfully, if Drake took his place on the council, the less his friend knew about his plans, the better. His plans to use Jaclyn as bait. As much as he fucking hated to put her in harm’s way, he had to trust that she could pull it off because they needed to buy time until the full moon. With the rest of the community on lockdown during the full moon—a precautionary measure for their own protection—it was Slyck’s one and only opportunity to save her. It would take prudence and a timely plan for the three of them to pull this off.

“Just tell me you’re strong enough,” Slyck demanded.

In a move that took Slyck by surprise, and all the while controlling the animal inside him and maintaining his human form, the young panther pounced and knocked Slyck to the ground.

Drake grinned down at the other man and said, “You tell me.”

Chapter Twelve

Jaclyn stood before the mirror and checked her eyes to make sure the new blue contacts covered all her green flecks. Satisfied with the results, she tried to keep her shaky fingers calm as she applied a light layer of pink lipstick to moisten her dry lips. With the knowledge that she needed to cover any traces of panther scent, she reached into her bag and retrieved the new bottle of jasmine-vanilla perfume that Slyck had given both her and Sunray earlier that day. She dabbed some on her neck, her wrists, and her breasts, putting an extra drop between her thighs before tucking the bottle back into her purse and exiting the washroom.

She glanced around Vibes, canvassing the patrons before sidling up to the bar and easing herself onto one of the padded stools. She ordered a fruity girly drink, all the while keeping her back to the door in a show of innocence, and also as a show of ignorance as to what was taking place in the town around her.

She ran her hands over the smooth oaken bar top and stole another glace around the room. Padded booths lined the perimeter, while square wooden tables were positioned around the small dance floor. Truthfully it looked like any other nightclub in any other small town. The scent of stale beer, pine-scented floor cleaner, and lemon-scented Pledge reached her nostrils. The combination actually turned her stomach. Jaclyn wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to her new, acute senses.

Since the sun had only recently set, the place was still fairly quiet, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. In no time at all the nightclub would be bustling with fairy-tale creatures come to life. She shook her head, hardly able to believe she was one herself. But she could no longer ignore the truth of what Slyck had awoken in her.

Slyck cast her a sidelong glance, which Jaclyn avoided by toying with her straw while she sipped her fruity drink and tried to make it look like she was uncomfortable, like she didn’t belong in the establishment—an easy task for sure, since her insides rattled more than dice in a Yahtzee cup.

As she neared the bottom of her strawberry daiquiri, the door behind her swung open, and the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor heralded Vall’s arrival. She’d recognize the thunder of those combat boots anywhere. She worked to relax her tense body and keep her heart rate steady.

As he sailed past her, his long golden mane shimmered under the mosaic of dance floor lights. Jaclyn’s nostrils flared as the pungent scent of him washed over her. He smelled like wet fur, alcohol, cigarettes, and sex. Jesus, who would have thought a lycan would smoke? Then again, it wasn’t like he had to worry about dying from lung cancer.

She used her feelings of restlessness and anxiety to her advantage. Vall lit a cigarette and stepped up to the counter. She sipped her drink, shifted uncomfortably on her stool, and met his steely gaze.

Through the thick fog of smoke billowing around his head, she regarded him with wide eyes, taking in the hard lines of his profile and his cold calculating eyes as he grabbed a drink from the barkeep and stretched out in the corner booth, his back to the wall like a true predator. He drummed his fingers on the table and took stock of the room. From over the wide rim of his whiskey glass—yes, thanks to her new heightened senses, she could smell it from where she sat—he stared