Living Extinct (22 page)

She thrust upward, lifting her hips off the bed and dragging him into her hot pussy.

He drowned in her quickly, filling her just as he promised, quick and hard.

Moira screamed. Her cry vibrated inside him. She called for his primal side, tearing her fingernails down his arms as he plunged inside her, going deeper, burying himself in her heat.

He wanted every bit of him inside her. Diving deeper, building momentum, all that mattered was getting both of them off. He wanted her coming again and again. Feeling her tiny muscles vibrate against his cock called forth his purer side. She panted while she held on to him tightly.

“It’s so good,” she said between breaths, her fingers digging into his biceps. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t ever stop.”

His cock bulged, swelled inside her. He ached to come, to be trapped in her heat where he belonged. All that mattered was Moira.

“I can’t hold back,” he muttered, fighting to form words when his body craved the change. “Not much longer.”

Her mouth formed a small circle, her eyes opening wide. “I feel you. Grow, wolf man. Fill every inch of me.”

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A small part of him was aware of Juan stroking his cock next to them, his panting almost as loud as Dante’s. His littermate jacked off to Moira’s beauty, to the hard fucking Dante gave her. That made him even hotter, knowing he was watched. He lowered his gaze, traveling down her body, and watched his cock disappear inside her.

As he glided in and out, white cream clung to his shaft. His white body contrasted so beautifully with her dark one. They were a perfect match, an incredible mating. His heart swelled watching her react to how he moved in her.

She loved what he did to her. And he’d never enjoyed fucking anyone as much as he did her. It was more than physical. They’d had that in their fur for a week. Taking her now, being inside her, moved something inside him that could only happen in their human form with all of his emotions on overdrive. Warmth traveled through him that had nothing to do with the change or with how hot her tight little pussy was.

He loved her. A level of compassion for her had existed for years. But now, as he rode her and buried himself in her heat, the feelings he’d had for her had moved beyond possessive. More existed than just a primal need to have her submission. That craving hadn’t faded. It had grown, developed into more.

Moira had captured his heart, and he prayed she never let go of it.

She held her breath, blinking a few times and then staring up at him. A rosy hue spread over her cheeks and she slowly smiled, her gaze darting to Juan but then quickly back to him. “Don’t let go of my heart either,” she barely uttered, and her body spasmed.

She clamped on to his cock, sucking him inside her. She cried out, her fingers running up and down his arms. Tossing her head from right to left, her hair clung to her face while her orgasm convulsed and ripped through her.

It was too much. His brain almost exploded. Her body demanded his release and he no longer had the strength to fight it. His vision blurred, but Moira’s beauty and sensual power were clear and easy to see and feel. She stroked his cock with her pussy.

Her fingers dragged over his body. The view she offered as she came was too much.

Dante pumped his come inside her. He released everything he had. The pressure exploded and flowed freely from his body. Suddenly he was so lightheaded he swore the two of them would float from the bed.

“Moira,” he growled, his cock growing and locking them together while he gave her all that he had. “My little bitch, I love you.”

She let out a sound that was half cry, half laugh. Her happiness smelled so fucking good mixed with her sex. Like fresh flowers in full bloom releasing their scent after a soft spring rain. Her face glowed and she grinned.

“I love you too, wolf man.” She relaxed underneath him, her hands gliding down his arms.

He collapsed, covering her briefly and then moving to the side, pulling her into his arms while their legs tangled together. Still inside her, indifferent to his blurred surroundings, he brushed his lips over hers.

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His mind slowly cleared even though his cock remained buried inside her.

“Fucking hot,” Juan growled behind him. He heard him move quickly, and then the bathroom door shut behind him.

Dante’s phone vibrated and then chirped behind them. It was on the floor somewhere, probably in his jeans pocket, or maybe his shirt. He scowled in that direction. His cock was swollen inside her. The damn thing would just have to ring.

“I got it,” Juan said, hurrying out of the bathroom with a white towel in his hand.

Once again he wore his boxers and hopefully had enough time to clean himself before grabbing Dante’s phone. The werewolf smelled like come.

“It’s Ollie Grayson, their pack leader.” Juan pushed the phone to his chest and let his gaze travel down their intertwined bodies. “Want me to tell him you’ll call back?”

She’d pulled part of the blanket over her, covering herself, suddenly shy in front of Juan. Her hair was tousled around her flushed face. That just-fucked look—damn, it looked good on her. He brushed his fingers through her dark silky locks and then focused his attention on his littermate. He had no doubts Juan would be on the prowl soon for a willing bitch.

“Hand me the phone.” He held out his hand.

Moira adjusted the comforter over their lower halves since he still rested deep inside her. He allowed her the small act of modesty, deciding not to try and figure out at the moment why it mattered that they were covered when Juan had just seen every bit of them naked. His cock shrank as he took the phone and he slipped out of her, rolling to his back as he glanced at the number on the small screen of his cell.

“Dante Aldo,” he said, holding the phone to his ear.

By the background noise, it was obvious the pack leader was outside. Wind picked up as static crackled through the connection.

“Dante, this is Ollie Grayson. Several werewolves claiming to be from Malta have approached me. They demand to see you.” Ollie sighed, sounding tired. “You helped my pack tonight and we have your tail, my friend. But I’ve sent my werewolves home to their mates for the evening. Dragging them back out if there is trouble might be a challenge.”

Dante always knew this day would come. Word traveled quickly through packs, and often by the time it had been howled a few times, it came out distorted and inaccurate. Not to mention he’d never bothered to set any facts straight. Having the reputation of a pack destroyer had protected many good packs over the years. The time had come to clear all negative smells from the air. He knew when he shared the truth, suspicion might arise. Some might not believe him. It was knowledge he’d always lived with and would face tonight. Soon he’d know who would howl under the moon with him and who would go for his throat. He glanced down at Moira, who watched him with intent curiosity. God, he prayed she’d always run by his side.

“Where are you?” he asked, wishing more than anything he could lay next to her warm, sated body for the rest of the night.

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“Meet me at my den.” Ollie told him the address and gave brief directions. “Like I said, you honored our pack fighting by our side earlier tonight. These werewolves demand retribution. If you want, I can hold them until morning.”

“No. I will meet with them tonight. It’s time to set the record straight. The Malta werewolves deserve that much.”

His words brought Moira to her feet. She pulled the comforter along with her, staying wrapped in it. But her long hair, tangled and flying around her face, added to the wild look she gave him as her jaw dropped.

He hung up his phone and stared into eyes filled with confusion and pain.

“What do we deserve?” she asked quietly, gripping the comforter at her breasts.

“Let’s get a shower, sweet bitch.” He picked up their clothes and bundled them in his arms. The comforter fanned around her like a royal robe as he placed his hand on her bare back and guided her toward the bathroom. Her emotions tripped over each other, swirling around her, and she made no effort to contain them. He turned to Juan.

“We leave in a few minutes for the pack leader’s den,” he told him, offering neither of them any explanation.

The simple fact was, in spite of the years, he didn’t have an explanation formed. All he could do was lay the truth on the table. A terrible and gruesome truth that he’d shouldered for years. He was no pack destroyer, but he was no hero either. The only person he’d saved successfully on that terrible day was the bitch he loved.

By the time they arrived at Ollie’s den, a modern-looking log cabin home on the side of the mountain, the crescent moon was high in the sky. Bright stars added light, and the blackness surrounding them was an amazing contrast. The night air was crisp, with the rich scent of evergreen giving it a clean smell. He’d just had damn good sex with the bitch he’d dreamed about for years and loved with all his heart. She stood by his side now as they climbed out of the truck. Everything might have been perfect if it weren’t for the knot twisting like a knife in his gut. The reality was hitting him like a brick wall that finally closure would come on one of the deadliest and most destructive days of his lifetime.

Dante glanced down at Moira and she slid her hand in his. Juan came around the side of the truck to face him. For a moment he stared at the pack leader’s den, unable to move forward. Her warm, soft fingers gripped his, giving him strength. Both gave him odd looks. It would be the only time they’d see him falter, hesitate. Neither were acts he planned on experiencing often.

He stared at the pack leader’s home as an image of Bruno Tangaree appeared in his mind.

He focused on the old werewolf, who in Dante’s memory appeared just as strong and powerful as he always had. “
What if they blame me for this?
”

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Dante remembered the smell of the Tangaree den, clean and so full of love and happiness. The older werewolf had shared some sound advice during one of the last times they’d spoken.

Bruno stared out of the large window that looked out over downtown. For such a successful
werewolf, he and his mate had always lived simply.

“Rumors will fly no matter what the truth is, Dante.” The older werewolf turned to face him
but then looked at his mate, Renee, and smiled. He moved to her, stroking her hair, and gave
Dante his attention. “You’ll know when the time is right to share the truth. And then you’ll do
so.”

The time is right, Bruno
, he thought to himself.
He swore the old werewolf nodded his approval.

Something shifted in the air, like a warm breeze yet nothing blew. The hairs on his arms raised, but he didn’t smell any aggression. Looking around quickly, there were no signs of any other werewolves other than the three of them.

Moira’s hand went cold in his. She stiffened, looking up at him with an expression he hadn’t seen on her face before. She paled as the door to the den in front of them opened.

“My sire,” she whispered, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I feel him here.”

Ollie Grayson walked up, not hearing her comment but sniffing the air as he stuck out his hand in greeting. “Welcome to my den, Aldo.”

Dante nodded, shaking the pack leader’s hand. Aggression and fear dominated the scents in the air. He wouldn’t take time right now to worry about where the emotions came from. For the most part, probably everyone involved felt a bit of both. There was something else in the air though, something strong and powerful—a scent he hadn’t smelled in over five years. For the life of him he didn’t understand what he sensed, or experienced. It didn’t seem anyone else noticed it but Moira.

“I’ve cleared out my family for the evening, sent them over to my in-laws’ den.”

Again Ollie sniffed the air, his expression alert.

He was a big werewolf, balding with broad shoulders. For a moment Dante focused on his profile, but then Ollie turned and stared him in the face. There was a lot of respect in the werewolf’s gaze. Damn good thing.

“There are two werewolves inside right now who claim to be from Malta.” He glanced at Moira and Juan. “They look just like them.”

“I was born and raised on Malta,” Moira offered, straightening and sticking her chin out. Her pride in her heritage dominated the smell in the air.

Ollie nodded, respecting that fact. “Well, come on in and we’ll get this over with.

I’ll tell you, Dante, I won’t let these werewolves cause you trouble.”

Two werewolves stood when they entered the den. It was a nice home, rustic, with a definite female’s touch about the place. Dante didn’t give too much attention to the array of pictures on the wall or the fancy vase with fresh-cut flowers on the coffee table.

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The bitch of this den wasn’t here, but this was her home, her things, and they wouldn’t be messed up.

Animosity clogged the air when one werewolf took a step forward. The other seemed slightly more composed but both glared at Dante.

“You are Dante Aldo?” the one who’d moved closer asked. Black hair fell straight around his head, almost reaching his shoulders. He was a tall werewolf, possibly an inch taller than Dante, with piercing black eyes that burrowed into him.

Dante nodded once. The werewolf didn’t have the gift. He sensed that immediately.

“Dimitri,” Moira whispered, and the werewolf faltered. “Dimitri and Nicolo Spalto?”

The werewolf who’d hesitated came forward, staring at Moira. He rubbed at a day’s growth on his chin, which was mostly white and contrasted with thick black hair on his head. Both had the same straight, long nose, dark skin and penetrating black eyes.

Dante watched warily, a growl rumbling from his chest when the werewolf approached Moira.

He stopped, looking at Dante. Moira held her hand out, touching Dante’s chest. She sent out a calming sensation. It filled the room quickly. Damn her. She used the gift to rob the animosity from everyone in the room. It was late and she’d just fucked him hard. Exerting the effort to calm the situation with her gift would drain her quickly. He grabbed her wrist.