Captive Wolf (Werewolf Erotic Romance) (Amber in Darkness #1)

Captive Wolf: Amber in Darkness #1

Quirky Nights Publishing

Copyright © 2013 Julianne Reyer. All Rights Reserved worldwide. May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.

eISBN: 9781624930447

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are at least eighteen years old.

Dear Diary,

It feels strange to write that again after so long. I haven't seen my old journal in years, but back then it was the only solid part of my life. The only thing that kept me together, a reminder that I wasn't going crazy.

My first entry still makes me laugh:

"I don't know how it happened but today I turned into a wolf."

I was fifteen when I wrote that. Then over the years that followed, my eyes changed color. Even stranger things started happening. At eighteen, I left home, giving up my birth name in favor of "Amber". That was back before I belonged to a pack. Even before I met Scott.

That was when I knew Austin… and it was when I stopped writing. Because what happened next, I could never put in a journal.

***

"It's hot."

Amber gritted her teeth as she braced over the antique clawfoot tub, her legs tingling under the steaming bath water.

"It's supposed to be, silly." Austin smiled as he draped the washcloth over the porcelain edge. "It helps circulation." He gripped her arm to help her slide all the way in.

His touch was like ice compared to the heat radiating from the bath. An involuntary shiver danced over her skin. Frigid but familiar. She gave a small smile.

The cold was sometimes a comfort to her, like a welcome numbness veiling her mind. Not like the heat, which seemed to draw it away, leaving her open and exposed. Feeling too much.

But as much as her shoulders tensed at the thought, her mind remained blessedly peaceful. No waves of excitement, nor sharp throbs of anxiety. No ambient fear, nor strange pangs of lust. She was safe from that here. With Austin.

His striking green eyes stared back at her from his smooth, composed face. He was cute, and maybe just shy of exotic, with his exquisite taste in clothes, medium-length dark golden hair, and a mischievous smile. He was her age, give or take a few years she supposed. A college freshman with uncanny self-assurance and sometimes heartrending charisma.

At the moment, he was everything to her. But even so, she wished he could have been more.

She'd met him under harrowing circumstances when her life had just been turned inside out: rejected by her family, kicked out of the house, no financial support. And if that wasn't bad enough, there was her little problem with sensing emotions, and the much larger issue of turning into a wolf.

But that hadn't mattered to Austin, nor the Others who were like him—though colder and distant. In fact, they made it easier and put her short, grim life in perspective. They gave her a purpose, even if it was that of their captive, serving their appetites. It was the best she could have hoped for; at least here someone cared.

"Will tonight be it?" She sank back, submerging her hair in the water for a moment before sitting up.

Austin frowned as he retrieved the washcloth. "No." He rubbed a bar of soap against it until it foamed with lather. "I don't think so."

"Sometimes I wish it would be."

The soap dropped to the ground. "Amber. I told you. We'll find a way. Just have patience."

She sank down until her chin touched the water. "I'm tired."

"Come on." He pushed the sleeves back on his black dress shirt and dipped his hands in the water, urging her to sit up. "You can't be tired yet. You'll need all your energy tonight."

He scrubbed the washcloth over her back and shoulders as she leaned forward. "You are gorgeous and they will love you, as I love you. They would not waste that. Not tonight."

She'd done this at least a dozen times, yet her heart still raced with anxiety. It wasn't like she had to do much: just lie back, focus on the gleaming opulence of the room, the dignified poise of the guests, the grandeur of their attire. Try to keep her pulse steady amidst a swirling sea of scarlet and black, lace and leather.

But when all those eyes turned to her, it was a struggle to keep from fainting. And that was the only thing required of her. Don't pass out.

"Are you going to do it again?" Her voice was barely a whisper but she knew he'd hear it. "You know."

His hand trailed down her chest, leaving pale suds in its wake. Despite the heat, her nipples hardened from his touch.

"You know it's better if I don't." His eyes flashed under his arched eyebrows. "They like it more if they can sense your fear. It makes it more authentic."

"I know." She sat up on her knees, bracing on the opposite side of the tub as he washed down her sides and over her rear. "Maybe just a little?"

A gasp caught in her throat and her back jerked as he lathered between her legs.

He chuckled. "All right." His hand moved down her thighs then back up to her stomach. "But they're going to get suspicious. You don't want to wear out your usefulness."

He dipped the cloth and wrung out the excess water. "There."

She sank back down to rinse the suds from her body. Then she rose to her feet and stepped out of the tub. "Why don't we just run away?"

Austin shook his head as he draped a towel over her shoulders. "I told you. They're too powerful." He brushed it over her skin, drying down the length of her body. "No matter how fast or far we go, they will eventually find us. Be thankful they let us roam the house during the day instead of chaining us up in the dungeon."

She shrugged out of the towel and walked into the luxurious adjoining bedroom, naked and not caring, as Austin followed behind her. With a sigh, she sat down at the marble topped desk and stared into the golden-framed vanity mirror.

"I'm not sure how much more of this I can take." With quick strokes she smeared foundation over her nose and cheeks.

Austin let out a deep sigh. "Amber. You're stronger than this." He rested his hands on her naked shoulders. "You're a beautiful, strong-willed woman. A warrior in silk and lace." His arm stretched over her as he grabbed a brush.

"Warriors don't wear things like that." She tried to keep her hand steady as she applied bright red paint to her lips.

"Looks are deceiving." He ran the brush through her hair then leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Now let's get you into your dress."

She turned as she stood, and the cool air prickled over her naked body. Austin held the black silky dress open and she stepped into it with shaky legs.

"Sorry."

His hands slid up her body, pulling the dress along her skin. It was beautiful, willowy, with intricate embroidery that accentuated her small, pert breasts. As it brushed over her nipples, a shiver ran up her spine.

"You are nervous." He hooked the straps over her shoulders and stood back, a satisfied smile on his face.

She swallowed and blinked as a tear welled in her eye.

"Oh no, no, no." He pressed his thumb to her face to keep her mascara from running. "Relax."

The word hit her with a gentle wave of calm, washing through her muscles, and rinsing away the black pit in her stomach. Her vision wavered for a moment. Then she smiled back at him. "Thanks."

He rolled his sleeves back down. "Try to have fun." Then he gave her a pat on her ass before opening the giant double doors.

***

Scott left his smoking car and walked down the winding road; the reek of scorched metal and oil followed him, assaulting his keen senses like an accusation. Another reminder that the thing he'd become had no place in normal, post-industrial society. He scowled and fixed his eyes on the curve in the road up ahead.

The bar he'd passed was about a mile back, he guessed, though he hadn't paid close attention. Just enough to register in the back of his mind that the place looked like a shit hole. That was in between the car's groans and thumps, before the noxious smell of it dying.

Most of his meager savings had gone into that car, which had already broken down ten times this month: costing him time, sweat, and more than a few meals worth of his remaining cash reserves. But this time, he doubted he'd be able to fix it. The damned thing seemed intent on going to Hell, and he didn't have much of a choice left: it was time to either let it, or go along for the ride.

And he'd already been there, so the latter option was out.

Still, he wasn't going to leave it on the side of the road. If nothing else, he was stubborn enough that he wanted it towed back to his motel. Where he could glare at it while he thought his way out of this predicament—stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to travel. Then when he found an answer, he would take something solid and heavy to it as a parting gift to himself.

The town itself was mostly run-down and timeworn, nestled in the hills with only a thin, twisting highway to connect it to the rest of the civilized world. Yet it was home to a small liberal arts college, and Professor Louis Bauersfeld, one of the top academics on paranormal antiquities and folklore.

Of course, no one took the man seriously. Most people agreed that he was exploiting his tenure, and there were occasional grumbles in the local paper about that. To his colleagues, he must have been the academic version of the X-Files. But to Scott, he was something else. A light in the darkness. Hope in the nightmare. A place to begin his search for the truth.

After days of unanswered calls, and sleepless nights spent pacing in unfamiliar hotel rooms all over the country, Scott had finally heard back from the man. The professor was suspicious of course, expecting Scott to be from a gag news site or—more likely—insane.

But Scott had turned on the charm, laid it on thick, and he'd dredged up every ounce of academic flattery he could muster. "I've read all of your published journal articles, sir," he'd said, gritting his teeth. "Even the ones in Science Fiction Studies. I think they're brilliant."

He went on to say hastily that he was an English literature grad student—which wasn't quite true at the moment—and that he hoped to follow in the man's footsteps someday. It was that last bit that convinced Professor Bauersfeld to agree to a meeting.

And now Scott was going to miss his chance because his car had decided to shit itself.

He rounded the last bend in the road and the ramshackle bar came into view. The place was weathered, with grayish wood and a faded, unreadable sign. A row of gleaming motorcycles sat out front in a gravel-strewn lot: colors ranging from candy apple to midnight blue, in a sea of shimmering chrome. Mostly custom jobs, it looked like. He might have cared enough to notice them earlier if his car hadn't been in its death throes.

Scott ground his teeth as he opened the door and entered the dimly lit bar.

It was about mid-morning but the small place was already crowded with burly, leather-clad patrons.
Surprisingly, not far removed from a gay fetish club
, he thought, eyeing the crowd. Except their fetishes would be bikes and hyper-masculine posturing.

Of course, he wasn't planning to say that. He was out of his element, and he was well aware that his appearance didn't fit in. Just barely past college age, he was wearing a blue button down shirt and black slacks. His black hair was short—even if it was a week or two past needing a trim—and his eyes were dark brown, bordering on black with his mood. That suited him just fine for the most part, but given the circumstances, he forced himself to glance down and blink. Try to keep the seething cynicism in check until he was done here.

Scott was consciously aware as conversations quieted and eyes turned to him. He cleared his throat. "Can I use your phone?"

The bartender braced his thick, tattooed arms on the bar. "What's it worth to you?"

Scott pulled his wallet out. He only had a five and two fifties. "I can give you five bucks for it."

Something sharp poked against his back.

"There's a gas station at the bottom of the hill. Leave your wallet on the bar and get the fuck out." The man's breath reeked of whiskey and his body smelled sour from sweat.

The hairs on the nape of Scott's neck prickled like needles. His pulse quickened. His eyes gleamed like onyx. He hadn't planned on this kind of trouble. But since it had presented itself, he wasn't going to back down. And he couldn't help the smile curving at the corner of his mouth.

"You know I only wanted to use your phone." He chuckled under his breath. "Then you had to go and turn me on."

The bartender sneered. "What are you? Queer?"

"Sometimes." Scott closed his eyes as blood boiled in his veins. "I promise not to fuck you if you get on your knees and beg to suck my dick."

Chairs scrapped as the bikers got to their feet.

"Stick the fucker," ordered the bartender.