Free Predator's Refuge by Rosanna Leo

definitely off-limits. She wouldn’t debase herself in front of him.
    But she needed to silence her lynx, and her mental efforts weren’t working.
    The animal uttered a strangled cry, pushing against her insides with insistence. Feed me, it seemed to say. Give me some hunky man flesh to sink my teeth into. His!
    No! Not him . I swear to God, lynx, I will send you to the farm if you don’t behave.
    Desperate, she thought of Killian and wondered if her friend might still be up for soothing her itches with his jaguar paws. Yes, she’d go to Killian. He’d help her end this insanity. If she allowed herself to let go, as Charlotte suggested, she might even enjoy it.
    So why did it feel so wrong, almost sacrilegious, even considering it?
    With a careful hand, she lifted the needle from Rosemary’s album and turned off her record player. Letting out a cry of exasperation that echoed her lynx’s, Marci dashed out of her cabin and into the moonlit woods. Running at night had always provided her with a sense of strange peace, and she craved it now. She hid behind a cluster of trees and stripped out of her clothes. As she removed the last item, her panties, her pussy throbbed against the scrape of the soft fabric.
    “Oh,” she murmured. As she dropped the panties to the ground, she gave in to temptation and touched her swollen labia. They were always swollen nowadays, pink and raw, aching for the touch of an experienced man. One who could bring her to satiation point with a mere brush of his fingers or flick of his tongue.
    Stifling a cry, she dropped to her knees and sucked in a deep breath. As she allowed her body to undergo its unusual transformation, she shivered as her pores flared and burst with silver-brown fur. She spread her fingers on the ground, and watched through luminescent eyes as the digits expanded into large, fluffy paws. Her cheeks tingled as tiny hairs sprouted on her face and turned into long whiskers, and her ears quivered and lengthened into the unique tufted ears of the Canada lynx. Her ass shook and her stumpy tail appeared.
    Inhaling the scents of the forest, Marci’s lynx dashed between the trees and headed for Killian’s cabin.
    It didn’t take long before she caught another scent on the wind, one that was already ingrained in her brain.
    His . Anton’s.
    Changing direction, she paced on velvet, padded feet toward Cabin 47, even as her human mind sought to carry her back toward Killian. In minutes, she was at Anton’s open window. With the stealth inherent to her species, Marci shifted back and tiptoed toward his window. With infinite slowness, she peered in.
    Sweet Jesus. He just had to be naked again.
    Of course, shifters loved being nude. The minute she got into the privacy of her own cabin she shed her clothes too.
    Anton was asleep, his large body draped across his couch. The TV was on and she heard the dignified tones of a BBC reporter. A silent laugh made her chest rumble. News reports usually caused her to drop off as well.
    Within seconds, she heard another noise, one that came from Anton. As he fidgeted in his sleep, kicking at the throw pillows at the end of the couch, he moaned. His hands clenched at his sides, as if preparing for a confrontation. Back and forth he rolled on the sofa, making it creak under his weight. His brow was furrowed and his mouth drawn into a tight line. At one point, he stopped and swatted his face, as if trying to erase the vexation haunting him. As he lay there, his cock bounced to life and he grunted in what appeared to be terrible frustration.
    “Father, no,” he cried.
    Marci tried to look away and couldn’t. And not simply because he was such a spectacular sight to see, but because his impassioned cry broke her heart. What on earth was he dreaming about, and why did he sound scared of his own father?
    After a couple of moments, a groan escaped him and he sat up with a start, throwing his legs over the side of the couch. He stared, disoriented, at the