fate of the alpha - episode 3 (5 page)

Grace could feel herself swelling in anticipation. When Julian slid a hand into her curls, she held her breath.

“Ohhh,” he groaned when his finger dragged against her wet and swollen flesh.

He buried his face in her neck again, kissing and biting at her wildly, without moving his hand.

Grace closed her eyes and bit her lip until she tasted blood, willing herself not to grind against his fingers.

“Please,” she heard herself whisper brokenly.

Instantly he was on her mouth, licking and worrying her lip. It stung a little, but when he rubbed his hand against her again she didn’t feel it anymore. Her whole world concentrated on that small place between her legs.

She was so wet, she was sure the table would soon be slippery with the evidence of her lust. Her sex was so hungry, so empty.

She could feel Julian hard against her hip. But the last time she had reached for him he’d punished her.

Grace moaned helplessly.

Julian’s hand disappeared.

She opened her eyes to see him slide the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. He spun her so that he was between her legs.

When he crawled toward her, she had to shut her eyes.

His tongue touched the base of her vagina and the pleasure was so intense she saw stars behind her eyelids.

He growled with pleasure and began to lap at her enthusiastically.

Grace’s control over herself was lost and she lifted her hips to meet his mouth.

His arm pressed against her hips, pinning her to the table.

And his tongue, oh, his ruthless, clever tongue. Julian caressed and teased her. Adjusting his rhythm to avoid giving her relief, he would lick up to her clitoris, then suckle it lightly and move downward again.

Hours could have passed or merely moments. Grace was frozen in time, praying for him to have mercy on her.

Julian eased a teasing finger against her without penetrating.

She could feel herself opening, her sex begging him.

Slowly, so slowly, he pressed inward and again she saw stars as he found the magical place inside her and kneaded it gently.

There was a low sound, growing louder. Grace realized belatedly that it was her own keening.

“Fuck,” Julian whispered.

Then she felt his mouth on her clitoris again. He flicked his tongue back and forth then suckled hard.

Grace came frantically, tightening like a vice on his finger, shamelessly crushing herself against his mouth. The pleasure seemed to consume her, and her life flashed before her eyes.

She was tottering down Harvard Avenue looking up at the treetops meeting overhead. The co-president of the Chess Club was pinning a tiger-lily corsage on her for prom. She was shooting her service weapon at the police academy. She was digging a bullet out of her best friend’s shoulder. She was meeting a man in the garden of an abandoned house. She was falling in love.

When she opened her eyes, Julian was looking down at her. His lips were parted, as though he were trying to experience it all with her.

She reached for him, with her hands, with her heart, with her very soul.

He fell into her arms and covered her face with tiny kisses.

“Please,” she whispered for the third time.

This time he obeyed. In a flash he was on his feet, stepping out of the rest of his clothes. He removed his watch and laid it on the chair with her gun belt.

“
Disponat vobis
,” he said to the table.

Grace felt it shift beneath her, but didn’t tremble. One moment she was lying on the hard wood surface, the next she was cradled in impossibly soft bedding.

“
Succendunt ignem
,” he told the overhead light.

Instead of a halogen bulb in a fixture, Grace was suddenly looking up at a flickering gas lantern.

“Is this okay?” he asked her. His voice was tight with need.

She smiled and held her arms out to him again.

He leapt into the nest of bedding and caged her head with his hands. His eyes were so blue now that it was hard for her to concentrate on what he said next.

“You’ve been a very good girl,” he whispered. “I’m going to make love to you now, but you need to be still so I can make it good for you, darling one. Can you do that for me, Grace?”

She nodded up at him, slowly.

“Beloved,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her.

She could feel him, hot and so hard against her. He caught his breath and then pressed himself inside her, so slowly Grace thought she would die.

Once he was fully seated, he stilled for a moment.

Grace relaxed to accommodate him. As soon as the feeling went from stretching to aching with need, Julian eased nearly all the way out and then back in.

“Oh,” she whimpered against his mouth.

He drew back to look at her, all the while making love to her with exquisite slowness.

The lamplight from above made a halo around his golden hair and Grace thought she might have heard birds singing in the forest of magical flowers. She felt weightless with happiness and wished she could freeze this moment. Afterward, surely nothing could ever seem sweet again.

But need soon darkened Julian’s features, and all at once he was thrusting into her wildly.

Her body responded instantly and she couldn’t stop her hips from lifting up to him, goading him. Her nipples were so taut they ached with her burning skin.

Julian slid a hand down to tease her with a long finger.

Suddenly, Grace was coming apart again. She could feel herself milking and squeezing Julian’s cock, as her poor pussy tried to convulse while stretched around his impressive girth.

He groaned helplessly and she felt him grow harder still. He exploded inside her in a wave of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

When it was over, he nuzzled her neck, then lay beside her with his leg thrown possessively over her hips. Stroking her hair, he gazed at her, his blue eyes crinkled in a warm smile.

Grace couldn’t help smiling back.

“I love you,” he told her.

She opened her mouth, but he laid a finger across her lips.

“Go to sleep now,” he said.

“But—” she whispered.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time. Just let me hold you,” he said firmly.

Grace wanted to protest, but he was so warm and the nest was so soft. She decided to rest for just a moment.

CHAPTER 7

E
rik opened the door to the Copper Creek Community Library. The brightness inside contrasted with the damp afternoon outside. He was struck again by the warmth of the place.

“Erik,” Bonnie cried, her heels pounding the pumpkin colored pine floor as she launched herself at him.

“Hey, Bonnie,” he said, trying not to notice her breasts bouncing under her sky blue sweater.

“I found out what the symbols mean,” she said excitedly.

He figured he’d let her go first. After what he had to say, hers was going to seem anticlimactic.

They walked over to the tables with the old fashioned aqua iMacs.

Bonnie indicated that Erik should sit, so he pulled out a chair. He was astonished to see that by some miracle she had managed to pull up a picture of one of the symbols from the internet.

“How the heck did you get this thing online?” he asked.

“Dial up,” she said with a half smile. “And determination.”

“No kidding,” Erik replied.

Bonnie smiled and leaned forward over his shoulder to point at the picture, a set of inward facing arrows.

“So, the arrows mean danger. And they were holding that Pac-Man looking thing sideways. That’s actually an owl. An owl is supposed to be a harbinger of death. I don’t know why Jacob would have had this, though,” she said, shaking her head and sending her auburn tresses in motion.

“I do,” Erik said, gesturing to the chair beside his.

Her green eyes went wide and she sat, smoothing her skirt demurely over her knees in yet another mannerism that reminded Erik of Ainsley.

“I was at the mine today,” he began. “They ran a camera down the shaft.”

He paused. What he had to say next was almost unbelievable. It hit him that she might
not
believe him. And it wasn’t like he had any proof.

“What did you see?” she prodded.

“The miners found an underground cavern,” he said. “Those symbols were written on the walls,”

Bonnie nodded, slowly.

“That’s very strange,” she said, “but it makes sense. Jake Miller was not a man who would have borrowed books like that for fun.”

“There’s more,” Erik paused again, unsure how to continue.

Bonnie cocked her head, waiting.

Better to just get it all out there. He took a breath and told her everything.

“There were men in the cavern. They were dead. It was horrible. Some of them had been... decapitated. And there was no blood. And there was a grate, shaped like one of the symbols. And there was something
alive
behind it,” he finished quickly.

He looked over at Bonnie. She was frozen, her face inscrutable.

He was a stranger, and what he’d told her was just plain crazy. For the hundredth time, he cursed the lack of his wolf to help him get a better reading on her.

“We need to go see Teresa Simkins,” Bonnie said. “
Now
.”

CHAPTER 8

T
eresa Simkins lived by the creek. So close to the creek, in fact, that they couldn’t get there by car.

Erik had insisted upon driving, but they could get the pick-up truck only so far into the woods before he had to park it and walk.

Though it was only late afternoon, the swamp was nearly dark, except for the light of the waning moon above. The moonlight made Bonnie’s hair shine and Erik wondered if it was affecting her, and how he might have responded if he were still a wolf.

A fine mist rose out of the muddy ground. After another five minutes their feet began to squelch in the mud.

“Are you sure—” Erik began.

But Bonnie whipped around and put a finger to her lips.

There was nothing to do but continue.

As Erik was beginning to relax and get into the spooky scenery, he spotted movement at his feet.

Snake.

The brown, hourglass markings on its body and the lighter, unmarked head made it instantly recognizable as a venomous copperhead. His dad had taught him to spot them when he used to take Erik fishing.

Erik almost cried out in pain and fear as the scar on his back burned.

The snake slithered past him into the water, unperturbed.

What the hell? Was he afraid of snakes now? Erik had always liked animals. He knew the snake meant him no harm, but his heart pounded like he was in mortal danger.

And why was his scar burning? He wasn’t fucking Harry Potter.

Bonnie continued to walk calmly ahead of him. Erik took a few deep breaths as he followed her, willing himself to get his shit together.

The cold, wet air threatened to sink into his bones. He wondered how Bonnie could stand it in her thin sweater, then remembered that she was a wolf, and it would take more than this to make her cold.

A shadow emerged from the mist, its shape becoming more familiar as they approached.

It was a house, but it was unlike any house Erik had ever seen before.

The entire structure lacked any discernible right angles, and straight lines seemed to be few and far between. Twigs and roots poked from the thatched roof and reached up into the sky like bony fingers. In several places, the ivy that hung from the structure like matted fur had completely overtaken the walls.

Thin tendrils of bluish smoke seeped under the door and joined with the mist outside as Bonnie stepped onto the porch, Erik following uneasily behind.

What little paint was left peeled off the wooden railing in quarter-sized flakes as their footsteps disturbed the thick coat of bright yellow pollen dusting the porch floor.

“
Miss Simkins!
” Bonnie yelled at the top of her lungs, yanking open the dubious looking screen and banging loudly on the inner door.

Erik twitched at the loud sound after their long, silent walk.

“Sorry, she’s mostly deaf,” Bonnie explained. “And more than a little blind.”

Perfect.

An uncomfortable feeling tugged at the back of Erik’s mind, like he had stepped into a storybook, and not the kind where everyone lives happily ever after.

The door swung open and for a moment Erik thought no one was there. Then he realized that the person who had opened it was quite a bit shorter than he’d expected.

Teresa Simkins stood just about four feet tall. A simple white shift enveloped her round form. A roadmap of lines and furrows crisscrossed her wizened face. A blue haze of cataracts clouded her right eye, but the other, a brown so deep it was almost black, danced with mischief.

“Hi, Miss Simkins,” Bonnie said loudly. “I brought a friend, this is Erik.”

“Come on in out of the cold,” Miss Simkins hollered back, winking at Erik with her good eye.

He smiled politely and stepped inside behind Bonnie.

Instantly, he was hit with a sweltering wave of dry heat, and the cloying smell of marijuana. Not an uncommon odor when you live in a college town, but not exactly what he had been expecting from this visit.

“This is Erik Jensen,” Bonnie told Teresa. “A wolf from Tarker’s Hollow pack. He’s here to help with the mine. We have some questions we were hoping you could answer.”

Teresa eyed Erik up and down. He wasn’t sure how much she could really make out with with her vision.

“He may be from Tarker’s Hollow,” the old woman said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. “but he’s no wolf.”

A cold sweat formed on Erik’s brow. How could she know that?

“Miss Simkins,” Bonnie said defensively. “He was sent by the Federation. I assure you—“

“It’s alright, Bonnie. She’s right,” Erik admitted, surprised by the feeling of relief that accompanied his confession.

“
What?
” Bonnie spluttered.

“I was a wolf,” he explained. “Up until a week ago. Now I’m not.”