Bayon Jean-Baptiste

JEAN-BAPTISTE Chapter 7

Dusk was settling over the bayou, soft and quiet and milky. The massive sable puma watched the one he wanted above all others scamper off into the trees, her nearly white gold pelt acting as a beacon, a spotlight. He wanted to run after her, block her path, growl at her, hiss at her. At least until she listened to reason, maybe dropped to her belly and let him curl up beside her again, lick her fur. But Genevieve Burel was
determined to get to the elders, plead with them to forgive her and allow her back into their fold. And Jean-Baptiste had decided to let her.
He turned in a circle, snarling softly.
She'd lied to him. And yet, how could he be angry with her? He'd lied to her, too.
He opened his mouth to scent her one last time, pull the sweet, delicate fragrance of her and her cat into his nostrils, then took off in the opposite direction. He'd give her twenty-four hours to come to her senses, listen to herself, her body, and her cat. Twenty-four hours to realize they belonged together. Twenty-four hours to come to terms with the fact that the elders were her past, and Jean-Baptiste was her future. Then he was going in.
Clock starts now, Miss Burel.
He yowled at a few black puma Hunters on patrol near the edge of the yellow cow lily-strewn bayou. They returned his call, and he continued on, weaving in and out of a stand of oak, catching the scents of Hunters and Suits among the pitcher plants and wild bee balm as he headed for town. Though his heart hurt like a motherfucker, he wanted to check on Ashe, Raphael, and on Isi.
See what progress was being made. See if the voodoun was awake and plotting his demise.
The village was buzzing like the cave-top hive he'd stumbled upon as a cub when he broke through a patch of anise shrub. Must be close to evening meal, Jean-Baptiste thought, heading down one of the side streets. The Pantera pumas were all shifting into their human forms, waving goodbye to friends, rushing out of shops, making their way toward their residences.
Baptiste spotted the clinic ahead and picked up speed. A few pumas, still in their cat forms, jumped out of his way, hissing, but Baptiste didn't slow.
Already up the steps and inside, he headed for his office, a place he'd hardly been in the last few months. He'd claimed to be either ill or working from home. He hadn't wanted to risk a problem with his cat. But he didn't have that problem anymore, did he? he mused, bursting into the lab. Not since Genevieve.
His lip curled and his cat purred.
Damn, he missed her already. Maybe he should've insisted on going with her to see the elders, letting the three ancient females know just to whom their new recruit belonged. But he was trying not to be a possessive bastard. Trying to let her come to the realization that they belonged together on her own.
Of course, he wouldn't wait long.
Twenty-four hours.
Tick. Tock.
"Come to check on your voodoun?" His cat's fur prickled and he turned around, eyed the party behind him.
Raphael and two of the Pantera's best physicians entered the lab, the latter wearing pale blue coats and looking very concerned.
Baptiste shifted instantly, loving the new and precious feeling of control he now had over his animal.
Raphael's tired, green eyes narrowed with the new, quick and easy act. "Well, this a new development."
Not confirming or denying the Suit's assessment, Jean-Baptiste walked toward them. "The voodoun. She awake?"
"She is," Angel said dryly, his night-black eyes and white short hair a startling contrast. "Awake and pissed." Grabbing the stack of charts from Angel's hands, CJ headed for her desk.
"I think the last time I checked in on her, she was planning your death." Just as he'd expected. "Weapon of choice?"
The red-haired female glanced up from her charts. "A little of everything.
She was talking blades when we examined her. Then a very dull saw when we took blood."
They'd done a full work-up? Christ, she was going to be spitting fire. "Did you give her anything?"
"Just some anti-nausea meds. She was pretty green when she woke up. But the meds seemed to have given her some relief."
"Has she seen Ashe?" Jean-Baptiste asked.
Raphael growled before anyone could answer. "She's refused."
Damned, stubborn woman. "I'll talk to her."
"You need to do more than talk, Baptiste," Raphael said, closing the gap between them, his nostrils flaring. "You need to convince her to come and see Ashe, help her, cure her-"
"Raphael-" he began.
But the leader of the Suits was too far gone now. Rage and fear and misery coated his skin, was the air he breathed, directed every move, every thought.
He cocked his head to one side and flashed Baptiste his fully-descended canines. "Because if she doesn't help my female and cub, I won't be able to stop myself from killing her."
* * *
"The voodoun is here?" came the soft hiss. "In the Wildlands?"
"Yes." Genevieve sat before the elders, her chin lifted, but her insides twisting and turning with dread and grief and desire for the male she'd left back in the bayou. The three ancient, female Pantera, who existed in their puma state, were coated in mist, and sat in the three points of a triangle on the wide, cypress bridge that extended across the calm, moonlit bayou.
"You failed to stop her," said Wilu.
The brown cat's words were not a question.
Genevieve nodded. "I know."
"What is your excuse?" Gaya asked, the blue-gray cat's matching eyes thoughtful.
I was asleep. I was in bed with a male.
I fell in love.
Her shoulders falling, Genevieve shook her head. "I can only claim inexperience."
The third elder, Tyee, rose to all four paws and started toward Genevieve, her white fur, thick and lush. "Do you wish to rectify your failure, Genevieve?"
"I wish to apologize for it," she said quickly.
The cat shook her head, her pale blue eyes narrowed. "It's not enough if your goal is to be one of our students. An elder yourself someday."
Warring emotions swam in
Genevieve's blood. This was it. Her choice, her decision, and she had nothing but excuses. They wanted her
commitment to a cause she believed in wholeheartedly-a cause that could stop the decline of magic both inside her home and out-and she was hesitating.
But could she truly give up seeing Jean-Baptiste again? Never being touched by him? Kissed by him? Even the idea, the thought, damaged her heart.
She was weak.
"It's no loss, Genevieve," Gaya said pleasantly. "Just as your mother before you, it seems that you may not be suited for such an honor."
The words had not been meant to bruise. The elders only spoke in facts, truths, hard as they might be to face. But Genevieve winced all the same.
"I don't believe that," she said, her chin lifting.
"Your passion is elsewhere," Wilu said, her bright yellow eyes clinging to Genevieve. "As is your focus. Perhaps you wish to find a mate."
"No," Genevieve said, shaking her head, even as her brain screamed, I already have!
Tyee stopped before her, leaned in and touched her black nose to Genevieve's hand. "Perhaps the magic inside your home wanes because your belief in the elders wanes."
Her heart lurched. "Never!"
The white puma dropped her head.
"You have disappointed us, Genevieve Burel."
"Wait-"
"You are released."
Before Genevieve could say another word, all three elders vanished from the bridge, leaving only a thick mist curling above the bayou.
* * *
"You can forget my shop exists. No more ink. No more metal. I don't care if your cat chews your dick off, understand?"
Standing in the middle of the lab, a six foot, black-haired linebacker of a Hunter guarding her back, Isi glared at Jean-Baptiste. Arms crossed over her chest, blue-streaked hair wild around her face, the woman looked ready to murder him, and he didn't blame her one bit.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
She flipped him off. "Don't pretend you give a shit."
He shook his head. "Not pretending. I do care. I just care more about the survival of my species. And this woman who carries the first Pantera cub in fifty years is being threatened by something.
From the inside out, Isi. I swear to god, I wouldn't have gone to these lengths, been a complete asshole, if it weren't dire."
"You had no right to do what you did, Baptiste," she said. "I don't owe you or them anything."
He nodded. "That's true."
Her teeth ground together. "But..."
"But, shit, Isi. It's a baby." She stared at him for several long seconds, then slowly started to shake her head. "I don't know what you think I can do for her."
"Just take a look, see what you think." He walked toward her.
"Do I even have a choice here?"
"Course you do."
"Don't try to play nice now,
Baptiste," she warned as he approached.
"I'm not forgiving you."
Jean-Baptiste grinned. He'd always enjoyed their almost sibling-like banter.
"No forgiveness," he said, reaching out and pushing down a patch of her wild hair that was sticking straight up. "But maybe if I need the ink or metal again..."
She slapped his hand away. "I told you. Hell. No."
"Come on, Isi. You know you find it fascinating-"
He stopped speaking, his nose catching the most wondrous, most delectable scent in the world. Instantly, his body went hot and hard, a hungry growl vibrating in his throat.
His nose didn't make mistakes.
Not when it came to his female.
Miss Burel was near.