Book 13 - Page 78 (1/2)

She wanted dessert first so she dragged him toward the house, plates in hand.

“What about our steaks?” he asked.

“Priorities change,” she said, smiling up at him. “Some things just won’t wait.”

“Amen to that.”

Read on for an excerpt from Jaguar Hunt, the upcoming book in Terry Spear’s action-packed and sizzling-hot jaguar shape-s.h.i.+fter series

David Patterson parked his car and headed into the Clawed and Dangerous Kitty Cat Club, a Dallas-based social gathering spot for jaguar s.h.i.+fters. Humans didn’t know that the s.h.i.+fters even existed and the s.h.i.+fters meant to keep it that way. The owners of the establishment didn’t restrict humans from frequenting the place. More business meant more money. David wasn’t there to support the club; his current task as a Special Forces Golden Claw JAG agent was to follow two unruly teens—jaguar s.h.i.+fter twins Alex and Nate Taylor—and bring them into the JAG branch if they violated one more law—jaguar s.h.i.+fter or otherwise.

This was not the kind of mission JAG agents normally took on—unless the organization felt the teens were at risk or that they could be a welcome a.s.set to the branch and the agent was between a.s.signments.

Neither of the boys was supposed to be in a club that served alcohol, which he would let slide if they were only there to watch the dancers in their skimpy leopard-skin loincloths and micro-bikini tops.

The place was more crowded than David remembered the last time he was here. One rowdy group caught his attention. They looked…different. Many were in great shape—almost as if they were s.h.i.+fters in the Service. But they were speaking in a smattering of foreign languages —Spanish, Russian, Chinese—and some of them wore clothes that were…unusual. Tights, sparkly tops, and ballet slippers that looked less like club clothes and more like what a Las Vegas entertainer would wear. The air conditioning blew their scents to him. Not jaguar s.h.i.+fters.

They smelled of elephants, horses, camels, lions, tigers, and dogs. The circus? Had to be from there.

He wrinkled his nose. That was the problem with being a s.h.i.+fter—their enhanced ability to smell odors. He noticed other patrons glancing their way, wrinkling their noses. Must be s.h.i.+fters, too.

The jungle music beat shook the floor and tables as conversations hummed all around him. A few couples danced on the floor, while others were just drinking and talking. Piped-in sounds of parakeets and parrots twittering and an occasional monkey’s howl made the silk leaf jungle sound more like the real deal.

David’s attention returned to Alex and Nate. Though not as muscular, they were both as tall as David. Alex’s hair was blond, his eyes dark blue, while Nate was less tan, and his light brown hair s.h.a.ggier.

One was dressed in camouflage pants, the other blue jeans, both wearing black T-s.h.i.+rts with pictures of jaguars screen-printed on the front. The words Panthera onca—the scientific name for jaguar—announced that they were jaguar s.h.i.+fters, though only their kind would realize that’s what they were saying.