The Wolf Moon (an erotic paranormal romance) (The Wolf Ring) (7 page)

“So,” the other
man said, his voice dripping with scorn. “You’ve come crawling back to the Ring
Rhea. You and this… freak.”

Graeme felt the
hairs on his neck prickle in response to the contempt in the other man’s voice.
He fought back the reaction, and glared, refusing to lower his gaze. Something
deep and instinctive told him that looking away from the other man’s eyes would
be seen as weakness.

Rhea shifted.
She stood in front of the other man, beautiful and naked, and utterly unashamed
of her nudity. Graeme felt rage that the other man was able to see her body,
and when the man’s gaze swept insolently down her form, he wanted to kill. He
forced his rage back, and waited.

“I came for the Ring’s
help,” Rhea said. Her head was low, her voice soft. She was not the proud and
sensual nymph he’d met in the forest, but a submissive and cowed wolf cringing
in front of an alpha male. “He is—caught.
Trapped between
forms.
And he is in pain. He needs help, Arthur.”

The other
man—Arthur—drew in a breath, his nostrils flaring. His green eyes lit with
rage. “You have mated with him.”

“Yes.” Rhea
spoke softly, but with conviction. “He is my mate.”

“No.” Arthur’s
voice was cold. “You are
my
mate. I
won you when I killed your mate. It is the law.”

Rhea lifted her
head. “It is an obsolete law.”

“Nevertheless,
it is the law. You are mine. I killed for you.” Arthur’s voice was a deadly
growl. “And I will gladly do it again if I must.”

Rhea looked as
if she wanted to argue, but she seemed to choke back her outrage, and lowered
her chin again. “He cannot fight you,” she said softly. “He is trapped between
shapes, unable to assume wolf form. It would not be a fair fight.”

“That will not
stop me from killing him.”

A soft noise
rippled among the assembled wolves, a low growl. It sounded almost like a noise
of outrage. Graeme had the impression none of the wolves cared overmuch for
their leader, and yet he doubted any of them would intervene if Arthur turned
back into a wolf and tore him to shreds. Apparently the law was all-important
among the wolves.

“I brought him
here to beg your help,” Rhea said quietly. “He is one of us, part of the Ring.
He needs our help.”

“And you may
have it.
Under one condition.”

Her back stiffened.
“Which is?”

“That you accept
me as your mate.”

No!
Graeme tried to snap out, but all that
emerged was a rough and formless sound, a growling, rumbling noise that sounded
neither human nor wolf. He snarled with frustration. Rhea was his.
His
, damn it.

“I have already
mated with him,” Rhea said.

“Illicitly.
You are mine,
under the law. You left us to escape the law—but now you have returned. If you
want our help, you must accept the law. You will be mine.”

Rhea turned her
head, looking at Graeme. He could only imagine how he looked to her. He was a
monster, a freak, whereas Arthur was a well-formed and handsome man, and in his
wolf shape, a magnificent canine. There was, he thought wretchedly, no reason
for her to pick him over Arthur.

Rhea stared at him
a moment longer, then lowered her head and spoke in a meek tone.

“Yes,” she said
softly. “I am yours, Arthur.”

The terrible
grief in her voice cut through Graeme’s fog of pain, and something Arthur had
said replayed inside his head.
 
I won you when I killed your mate.

And he
remembered Rhea’s voice, aching with sorrow:
He was murdered. I loved him with every fiber of my being.

This man had
killed Rhea’s husband, and now had the effrontery to claim her as his own. He
was a murderer, and she must loathe him.

And yet she was
willing to accept the cruel, heartless law of her people and mate with him, in
order to help Graeme.

Admiration swept
through him, along with a wave of emotion so intense it almost hurt. She was
magnificent. And she was his,
his
,
and he would fight for her. He would gladly die for her if he must.

But
no.
He couldn’t die and leave her without a protector, because it was plain that no
one in the wolf pack—the Ring—would lift a paw to protect her.

He—a misshapen,
monstrous, grotesque half-man—was all that stood between her and a terrible
fate. He was the only one who could save her.

And save her he
would, damn it.

Arthur reached
out for her, his eyes alight with a fierce possessiveness.

Graeme roared and
leaped forward, slashing at the other man with his taloned hand.

Chapter Seven

The swipe of
Graeme’s paw/hand did little damage, as his claws were relatively blunt, in the
canine fashion. But the blow was hard enough to send Arthur stumbling backward.
He went to his knees—and changed in the blink of an eye.

Graeme had
barely an instant to see the black wolf hurtling through the air at him, its
jaws open, its teeth glinting. Despite the pain that racked him at every
movement, he reached out and caught it by the scruff of its neck, then flung
it, hard. The wolf yelped involuntarily as it slammed into a tree trunk and
fell hard to the ground.

But it was up
again, almost instantly, and this time it dove for his ankles, slashing. Graeme
roared with pain as its fangs cut almost to the bone. He grabbed for it, but
the wolf danced back, out of his reach. He tried to pursue it, but in his
current form he shambled rather than walked, and moving quickly was beyond him.
By the time he had turned, it was slashing at him again.

Graeme roared
again, and kicked hard. His foot made contact with the wolf’s ribs, hard enough
to wring another yelp from the brute, and in his current superstrong state, his
kick sent the wolf tumbling over and over.

The wolf leaped
to its feet, its green eyes blazing, and began to circle him, more cautiously
this time. Arthur had apparently realized that despite his awkward half-human
form, Graeme was not as easy a victim as expected. Graeme turned, in his
shambling, stumbling fashion, trying to keep an eye on the beast. He knew that
if it got its fangs into his throat or abdomen, or at the back of his neck, he
was finished.

He hurt like
hell. Every bone, every sinew, ached and throbbed, and the terrible gash the
wolf’s fangs had left on his ankle felt like fire. He felt the blood trickling
from it, and wondered if he was losing enough blood to make him eventually pass
out. He felt lightheaded, but wasn’t sure if that was from loss of blood, or
sheer overwhelming pain.

He could no
longer convince himself that this was a hallucination. The pain had proven that
it was real, all too real. He was a half-human monster, battling for his life
against an angry wolf.
Battling for his mate.

The black wolf
feinted to the left,
then
lunged to his right. Graeme
tried to move more quickly than his awkward balance allowed, and his foot
slipped on the blood-wet leaves beneath him. He fell heavily onto his back,
completely vulnerable, his stomach and throat exposed to the wolf’s terrible
fangs.

He knew he was
going to die.

*****

By the law of
the Ring, Rhea knew she was not to interfere in a battle between males. The old
law—the law that was rarely followed in these days—had been intended to
determine which of the two males was stronger, which was better suited to
survive to sire pups and pass his name on to the next generation. By the law,
she could not interfere.

But the law was
obsolete.

That was why
she’d left the Ring in the first place, because after Arthur had come to power,
he’d insisted on enforcing a law that was better left in the past. He’d killed
her husband and tried to take her as his own.

He’d been wrong.

And he was wrong
now.

She hadn’t
interfered in the fight between Bryce and Arthur, and she regretted that. Law
or no law, she felt she should have been there at her mate’s side, striving to
protect him. But at least the two wolves had been more or less evenly matched,
and as much as she hated to admit it, Arthur had won fairly.

This wasn’t
fair. Graeme was caught between forms, awkward and unbalanced, unable to fight
properly, and it was almost a certainty that Arthur would be the victor.

This wasn’t a
battle. It was slaughter.

She saw Graeme
go down, saw the huge black wolf lunge in for the kill.

Without the slightest
instant of hesitation, she shifted, and met the black wolf with a furious
charge of her own.

*****

Lying on his
back, Graeme roared in fear as he saw Rhea’s silvery wolf form leap between his
supine body and Arthur. She was much smaller than the alpha, in her wolf form
as well as in her human form, and she couldn’t hope to defeat him. And in his
bloodlust, Arthur might well kill her.

Graeme struggled
to his hands and knees. Rhea yelped as Arthur’s fangs dug into her shoulder.
The clouds parted, and a ray of moonlight struck the clearing, letting him see
the dark blood as it seeped into her silver fur. Fury filled him, the primitive
fury of a wolf determined to protect his mate, no matter the cost.

The moonlight
washed over him, and he felt its warmth. It wasn’t a full moon, but he could
nevertheless feel its power. Adrenaline surged inside him, fueled by
possessive, protective rage, and he lifted his head, letting the moonlight fill
him. His skin rippled, and his bones seemed to rearrange themselves.

And then he
wasn’t kneeling on his hands and knees any longer, but standing on four paws.
He snarled—a true canine sound of ferocity—and bounded forward as Arthur
slashed for Rhea’s side again.

The force of his
charge bowled Arthur over, and Graeme’s fangs dug into the side of Arthur’s
neck, finding a grip and holding on, pressing the other wolf to the earth. Not
a death grip, but inescapable… and painful. Arthur gave voice to the pain in a
series of yelps.

Graeme snarled,
shaking the other wolf as if he were a mouse. Arthur yelped more, and rolled
over slightly, showing his furry belly in a gesture of submission.

Graeme knew it
would be an easy matter to readjust his grip slightly, and rip out the other
wolf’s throat, or disembowel him. His instincts urged him to kill—to kill the
wolf who’d hurt his mate, and tried to claim her as his own.
To
avenge his mate’s tragic loss.
To kill the coward who’d so willingly
attacked a half-shifted man who was unable to properly defend himself.

But he wasn’t
just a wolf. He was also a man. And despite the savage instincts surging inside
him, he didn’t want to kill Arthur unnecessarily.
Because
that would make him a murderer.

Just like
Arthur.

He released the
other wolf, and Arthur crawled away on his belly, beaten and terrified. Still
whimpering, he slunk into the underbrush and vanished.

Victorious,
Graeme lifted his head, surveying the other wolves. Apparently, he reflected,
he hadn’t needed the full moon to effect the complete change. The overpowering
need to protect his mate, to defend her, had been enough. He was a wolf now,
covered in dark gray fur. Not a mutant, but a wolf. A wolf who was also a man.

Still in wolf
form, Rhea approached him, licking his jaw in an adoring gesture of affection
and submission. He sniffed her, finding that her wound was already healing.
Something inside him assured him that the members of the Ring had incredible
healing powers, and somehow he knew she would recover readily enough.

The pendant
, he thought in shocked wonderment.
It’s telling me what I need to know
.

In this form,
the pendant wasn’t hanging around his neck. It had somehow become a part of
him. And yet he knew that when he shifted back, it would reappear… but he would
never be able to remove it again.

Rhea stood by
his side, every line of her lupine body filled with pride and satisfaction, and
he looked over the pack.
The Ring.

His
Ring.
He had defeated the leader, and that meant he was the alpha now.

Spurred by
instinct, he lifted his head, and a long, eerie howl rose from his throat. The
rest of the pack lifted their heads as well, and a chorus of wolf song rang out
through the night.

The sound filled
him with a strange and savage joy. He had a mate.
A new
family.
A new life.
He knew nothing whatsoever
about what awaited him as a wolf, and wondered how much of his life he would
spend as a human, and how much as a wolf.