Bayon/Jean-Baptiste (Bayou Heat) by Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright Page B
Authors: Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright
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been…taken over by…I don’t know…”
“What?” Jean-Baptiste asked.
Raphael shook his head. “Some kind of dark force.”
Holy shit . “A possession?”
“We don’t know.” The Suit’s voice broke. “We don’t know.”
“And the cub…?”
“The cub has a strong heartbeat. That’s all they know.”
Jean-Baptiste exhaled on a curse, ran a hand through his hair. He was surprised at the sudden and deep concern he and his cat felt for the new and important life inside Raphael’s mate. And yet, despite the hell he was experiencing as of late, he was first and foremost a Pantera. He wanted his kind to survive more than he wanted his next breath.
“What the hell is happening to us?” he whispered blackly. “The Wildlands, the pumas, the magic?” His question wasn’t meant for Raphael, for anyone in particular, but the male answered it anyway.
“I don’t know. But it’s growing worse.”
Jean-Baptiste turned to face the male. “The borders aren’t holding.”
“We must act, Baptiste.”
“I’ll go tonight. But I will have your word, what we’ve said here tonight is never mentioned again.”
Raphael nodded. “Done.”
“I’ll report back if there’s a problem. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the a.m.” Jean-Baptiste started to walk away, but Raphael called him back.
“One more thing.”
Turning, Jean-Baptiste hissed at the Suit. “Trying to keep my cat caged here, and it’s not your biggest fan right now.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“Come again?”
“I’m sending a Suit with you.”
Baptiste shook his head. “No. I do this alone or not at all.”
“I need to have backup there, a top negotiator, in case your voodoun becomes a problem.”
“We agreed to keep this between us,” Baptiste growled. “No one else can know.”
“She doesn’t know.” Raphael moved toward him. “She thinks she’s on assignment, bringing back someone to help Ashe.”
“My voodoun could tell her—reveal our connection.”
The Suit reached the window. He glanced inside, ran his hand down the glass, then fisted it and cursed. “That’s your problem. Mine is in there fighting for her life and the life of our cub.” He turned to glare at Jean-Baptiste. “The cub who might very well be the savior of us all.”
Jean-Baptiste growled. “Who’s the Suit?”
“The newest member of the Diplomatic Faction, Genevieve Burel.”
“No,” Baptiste stated flatly.
“You don’t even know her.”
“I’ve heard about her, and with my cat so unstable and ready to pounce on anyone who even slightly irritates me, taking her to New Orleans would be a batshit move.”
“She’s brilliant!”
“She’s a pain in the ass! A prickly, buttoned-up, nose-in-the-air pain in the ass,” Baptiste returned hotly.
“Good. Then she’ll make sure the journey is a success.”
He growled. “Either that or my cat will take her down before we even leave the Wildlands.”
* * *
Genevieve Burel placed the perfectly folded shirt inside her shabby overnight bag and gently slid the zipper closed. Her critical gaze moved over her room, taking inventory: the neatly made bed with the quilt her mother had made for her when she was a cub; the ancient chair that couldn’t hide its desperate need to be re-stuffed; the scuffed wood floors she’d spent hours trying to sand; and the dusty pictures and photographs that hung on the faded walls.
She exhaled heavily. She’d just cleaned an hour ago.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, then headed into the hall and down the stairs, careful not to grip the loose banister too firmly. On the small table that met her descent, the vase of Louisiana Iris she’d picked that morning were struggling to remain upright and full of color. The shockingly purple flower grew inside the magical borders of the Wildlands all year long, and was her grandparents’ favorite. In fact, it was their mating day flower. Genevieve tried to pick some every day, but the
“What?” Jean-Baptiste asked.
Raphael shook his head. “Some kind of dark force.”
Holy shit . “A possession?”
“We don’t know.” The Suit’s voice broke. “We don’t know.”
“And the cub…?”
“The cub has a strong heartbeat. That’s all they know.”
Jean-Baptiste exhaled on a curse, ran a hand through his hair. He was surprised at the sudden and deep concern he and his cat felt for the new and important life inside Raphael’s mate. And yet, despite the hell he was experiencing as of late, he was first and foremost a Pantera. He wanted his kind to survive more than he wanted his next breath.
“What the hell is happening to us?” he whispered blackly. “The Wildlands, the pumas, the magic?” His question wasn’t meant for Raphael, for anyone in particular, but the male answered it anyway.
“I don’t know. But it’s growing worse.”
Jean-Baptiste turned to face the male. “The borders aren’t holding.”
“We must act, Baptiste.”
“I’ll go tonight. But I will have your word, what we’ve said here tonight is never mentioned again.”
Raphael nodded. “Done.”
“I’ll report back if there’s a problem. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the a.m.” Jean-Baptiste started to walk away, but Raphael called him back.
“One more thing.”
Turning, Jean-Baptiste hissed at the Suit. “Trying to keep my cat caged here, and it’s not your biggest fan right now.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“Come again?”
“I’m sending a Suit with you.”
Baptiste shook his head. “No. I do this alone or not at all.”
“I need to have backup there, a top negotiator, in case your voodoun becomes a problem.”
“We agreed to keep this between us,” Baptiste growled. “No one else can know.”
“She doesn’t know.” Raphael moved toward him. “She thinks she’s on assignment, bringing back someone to help Ashe.”
“My voodoun could tell her—reveal our connection.”
The Suit reached the window. He glanced inside, ran his hand down the glass, then fisted it and cursed. “That’s your problem. Mine is in there fighting for her life and the life of our cub.” He turned to glare at Jean-Baptiste. “The cub who might very well be the savior of us all.”
Jean-Baptiste growled. “Who’s the Suit?”
“The newest member of the Diplomatic Faction, Genevieve Burel.”
“No,” Baptiste stated flatly.
“You don’t even know her.”
“I’ve heard about her, and with my cat so unstable and ready to pounce on anyone who even slightly irritates me, taking her to New Orleans would be a batshit move.”
“She’s brilliant!”
“She’s a pain in the ass! A prickly, buttoned-up, nose-in-the-air pain in the ass,” Baptiste returned hotly.
“Good. Then she’ll make sure the journey is a success.”
He growled. “Either that or my cat will take her down before we even leave the Wildlands.”
* * *
Genevieve Burel placed the perfectly folded shirt inside her shabby overnight bag and gently slid the zipper closed. Her critical gaze moved over her room, taking inventory: the neatly made bed with the quilt her mother had made for her when she was a cub; the ancient chair that couldn’t hide its desperate need to be re-stuffed; the scuffed wood floors she’d spent hours trying to sand; and the dusty pictures and photographs that hung on the faded walls.
She exhaled heavily. She’d just cleaned an hour ago.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, then headed into the hall and down the stairs, careful not to grip the loose banister too firmly. On the small table that met her descent, the vase of Louisiana Iris she’d picked that morning were struggling to remain upright and full of color. The shockingly purple flower grew inside the magical borders of the Wildlands all year long, and was her grandparents’ favorite. In fact, it was their mating day flower. Genevieve tried to pick some every day, but the
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