Dire Needs: A Novel of the Eternal Wolf Clan (19 page)

“Why is Rifter’s gang keeping you here?” she demanded.

“Rifter’s gang?” he murmured with a snort—far too sarcastic for someone who was a prisoner, although he was as giant as the rest of them. Where did they grow these people? They should be studied—if she lived, she
could ask them if she could write a paper on them for a medical journal.

“They’re keeping me here too,” she admitted. “Maybe we could help each other.”

“No one can help me.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Long story,” he started, and suddenly she wanted no part of it.

She had to leave now, and she didn’t know why. The restlessness took her by the throat, and she quickly exited the room and headed back down the stairs, not stopping until she got to the sliding glass doors past the kitchen.

It was dark and quiet down here. And she’d had enough.

As she ran across the lawn, the icy grass raking the bottoms of her bare feet, her brain was reeling.

And all the while, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be running toward Rifter.

Gwen knows the old language.

Gwen’s half Dire.

Gwen is your mate.

Watching her run down the hall away from him triggered every prey instinct—and a mating one Rifter didn’t know he had.

His wolf was gonna howl tonight. The moon was past full, but staring up at it made his body throb with the need, the undeniable hunger that pulsated through every fiber of his being.

He tore his shirt in half, heard the low keening rise from his throat. Caught halfway between man and beast—which was how he lived his entire life—he finally let the beast out.

The beast was the only way to deal with Gwen now.
Daughter of the man who’d imprisoned him, who’d sold out the Dires and was responsible for Rogue’s coma.

Gwen knows the old language.

Gwen’s half Dire.

Gwen is your mate.

He waited until he heard Gwen run across the lawn, and then he shifted and went out the window Vice had broken earlier.

Gwen tripped on a tree root, caught herself before she tumbled headfirst. Before she could continue her run, she heard the growl and looked up to see a wolf’s eyes watching her through the trees. She backed up and turned to run only when the eyes disappeared.

She ran until she hit the edge of the property, far more dark and foreboding than she’d ever seen. Torn between past and future, she hesitated before plunging into the woods—and it cost her.

The low growl from behind wasn’t vicious—it was more of a warning for her not to run. She said a brief, silent prayer, and when she turned, she found herself facing the huge wolf she’d dreamed about last night.

The same one tattooed on Rifter’s back.

How long he’d been behind her, silently stalking her, she had no clue, and she nearly went to her knees as he came toward her.

Once directly in front of her, he gave a howl that shook the earth—and her.

She slowly backed up with a strange sense of déjà vu. The wolf was cornering her, and she found herself up against a tree trunk. And the wolf kept coming.

“Why do you keep following me?” she demanded. “I’m trying to be strong, to do all this with dignity, and you’re determined to make me think I’m losing my mind.”

The words were spoken in one long, stuttered breath. Oh great, she was pouring out her heart to her hallucinations now.

And the wolf appeared to be
listening
.

“Please just let me go.”

But as she watched, the wolf began to change. It happened in under thirty seconds but seemed to happen faster—a blur of fur to skin, four legs to two…

And then Rifter was standing in front of her, naked in all his glory.

It was too real for it to be a dream. The other possibility was a brain-tumor-induced hallucination, which seemed far more probable.

Because Rifter
could not be
a wolf.

“You’re a…” The word
wolf
died in her throat. Maybe he’d fed her hallucinogenics, which would explain her dreams the other night.

There had to be something else beyond the simple explanation that Rifter was, in fact, a werewolf. Because those monsters didn’t exist. Couldn’t. Science couldn’t explain them. And she believed in cold, hard fact.

But when Rifter turned into a wolf again, fiction stood before her, panting in all its huge, shaggy glory. And she swore that the damned wolf smiled at her before it turned back into Rifter.

Yes, she was definitely out of her goddamned mind. “I don’t understand this.”

“It’s not something to understand—to analyze. It just
is
.”

“I heard you and your… brothers… friends—talking. About wanting me dead.” She stopped trying to move backward now, wanted to see what he’d do about the accusation.

He didn’t tell her she misunderstood. All he said was, “There’s more to it than you know.”

“If you’re
going to kill me, then do it,” she challenged, walked toward him and slammed her palms against his chest as hard as she could. He didn’t move at all, and so she did it again and again, and he did nothing to try to stop her. “Go ahead, you big, bad wolf—do it!”

He grabbed her wrists instead and held her steady, so close to his body that the heat radiated. Even as she attempted to move, she found herself pulled back into place with a force she’d never felt—and it was only Rifter’s hand. It wasn’t hurting her, but there was no chance she could free herself. “You bastard—you said I was safe with you.”

“You are.”

“I know what I heard—you all want to kill me.”

“I won’t kill what’s mine.”

The wolf had taken over him now—she could see that clearly. And she should be scared—more than a little of her was—but his scent was easing her, lulling her into a place more befitting a seduction than anything. “I’m not yours.”

“You’re on your way, Gwen—don’t tell me you can’t feel it. And you don’t want me to kill you,” he said with a low growl. Her borrowed sweatpants were ripped off… and as she stared at Rifter she noted that Rifter’s eyes were still those of the wolf, glowing nearly amber—the color of whiskey served neat—and she trembled because she knew she’d pushed it too far.

“This is what you wanted, little one,” he told her, and she shook her head mutely and he laughed, but it came out a growl. “You didn’t want me to stop last night. This time I won’t. Can’t.”

And as angry and confused as she was, she couldn’t resist him, not when he pressed her against him so the heat from his body turned her blood molten.

She tried to get the word out this time. “You’re a…”

“Wolf.” He wasn’t
interested in talking anymore. And since she’d just discovered that she wasn’t going crazy, she accepted his rough, punishing kisses that heated her, spearing pleasure to her core. Her body was demanding Rifter, and he was readily accepting her.

Her fingers threaded through his hair. She could still smell the wolf on him—primal, animalistic—and as his fingers found her sex, she groaned and he… howled.

“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked.

“Never,” he told her. “I don’t break my promises. I will never hurt you.” As he spoke, he tore her T-shirt from her like it was made of tissue paper and bared her naked body to him.

She knew he was telling the truth. “Rifter, what’s happening here?”

“Same thing that happened last night. Same thing I wanted to happen the first night I met you, Gwen.”

She trembled even as her body called to him. She scented him in the air, more strongly than ever despite the fact that they were outside, and every reserve she had gave way to raw, primal need.

This man was talking about killing you.

But as predatory as he was, she wasn’t protesting. Couldn’t. Not even when he took both her wrists in his and bound them together with what was left of her T-shirt, then pushed her down on all fours to the ground.

“I’m a wolf, Gwen… and you’re just like me,” he told her, right before he buried his face between her legs.

It couldn’t be true—but even as he said it and his tongue found her sex, she knew with certainty that he wasn’t lying to her. That she could escape if she wanted… that he would never, ever hurt her.

He’s right… he’s yours,
the rustling told her, and then it was overpowered by her moans.

She was bared to him and there was nothing she could
do but remain open for him, on all fours as his mouth took her. Her clit throbbed as he worked it with his tongue, sucked it while she gasped and tugged at her wrists because she wanted to touch him.

She whimpered, but as he promised, he wouldn’t stop. Not even when the keening moan left her throat and rang through the air, echoing in the still of the night.

But she was coming, dripping, her juices lapped up by him, and she came a second time in the space of seconds. She twisted and the bonds broke easily, despite how well knotted they’d been, and she stared down at them, wondering how she’d been able to do that.

And then, when Rifter turned her and prepared to take her with his cock, she no longer cared.

Her back crackled the leaves under her and she should’ve been so cold. Instead, his skin heated her like an electric blanket and there was steam rising from his shoulders as his body covered hers and he took her there, rocked into her hard and fast and left her breathless, with no quarter. His body seemed massive now that he was naked, and her legs fought to wrap around his waist.

He stopped for a second and put her leg over his shoulder, which left her open to his thrusting.

He was caught between man and beast—no, that wasn’t true. He was man
and
beast and he reveled in it. He was forcing her to celebrate it as well. Naked in the woods, wrapping himself around her in a sensuous dance, readying to take her under the moon.

It should’ve been uncomfortable, but the grass was like a soft, warm blanket against her back, the rain a sprinkle of cool against her overheated skin. Something unfolded inside of her, a stirring that made her spread her legs and welcome the big man between her thighs… and when he pressed inside of her, she told him, “More.”

He complied with a groan and a wicked shift of his hips that made something jolt inside of her.

This was all necessary. And right. She rocked against him, urging him farther inside so she could feel him in her womb. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his body and…

“Let it go,” he murmured roughly, muscles bunching under her palms, cock throbbing between her legs.

“Take me now,” she said in response, because it was so much simpler than thinking. His mouth captured a nipple between his teeth, flicked the end with his tongue.

Every sense was heightened, almost to the point of straddling the line between pleasure and pain. And even though he was not gentle with her, he was by no means too rough.

He was giving her exactly what she wanted.

B
y the time Vice got them to the cemetery, the storm threatened, the sky heavy with clouds, the air singing with moisture. A harbinger of a disturbing and definitely out-of-place weather pattern.

Near the mausoleum they discovered they weren’t alone in their ghost hunting, although the group of teens was there for a different kind of ghost. If they ever saw the things Vice had, they’d shit their pants for sure.

They had beer and weed, the boys trying to act brave for the sake of the girls, even though Vice scented the light fear.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?” Vice murmured and went toward them.

“Vice, leave them alone,” Jinx said, but it was too late. Vice was already jumping out and scaring the hell out of them. They all ran, except for one girl who started to, but doubled back.

“You’re too sexy to be dead,” she purred, although she didn’t get all that close. Not until he spoke, anyway.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He smiled because she smelled damned sweet, and at heart, he could relate to this. During his own time of wildness, he would’ve joined them.

But that was long gone, and for three hundred years, serious business had taken precedence. And so he let his canines come down a little and bared his teeth and growled.

The girl who’d told him he was sexy dropped her beer and opened her mouth to scream, except nothing came out. When Vice smiled again, his teeth were normal, and these teens, by morning, would be convinced it was the beer and pot that made them see things—or they’d have a damned good ghost story for their friends.

Now that they were alone—so to speak—Liam slunk toward the mausoleum to see if there was anyone—human, wolf or witch—in there tonight.

Through the ghosts and spirits in the area, they’d been trying to get the gossip as to what the witches were conjuring, and looking for ways to help Rogue as well. Talking to Jinx was like a hen party for said ghosts.

“Lots of activity.” Jinx squinted at the sky, the half-moon hanging over the cemetery like a painting.

Vice felt it long before Jinx said it, a jolt of static electricity up his spine. He hated this ghost shit, but being close to the twins, he’d started developing his own sixth sense.

“Don’t let them party in your body, man,” Jinx warned. “Make yourself an inhospitable host.”

“That’s impossible. Hospitable’s what I’m built for,” Vice reminded him.

The ghosts and spirits—good and bad—fucking loved him for his excess, like he could be their party in a box. He felt a ghost circling him, and then a darker spirit, and he chugged the Kettle One the teens had left behind before following Jinx.

“Nothing good can come from a demon. Don’t let it get inside you again or I’ll have to slap it out of you,” Jinx warned, but it was too late—wolves and vodka had never mixed, and no matter how often Vice tried to build
up a tolerance, it didn’t happen. Besides, he was so used to dealing with this world, he found it more fascinating knowing he’d never actually make it into that realm.

Hell, at least he could make a visit now and again.

“That doctor from UGH—Eidolon—he’s a demon,” he pointed out. “Granted, he’s a sex demon and these are just mean motherfucking not-getting-laid-anytime-soon demons, so I see what you’re saying.”