Wolf Bitten (5 page)

Her discomfort helped contain his animalistic urges. “Shhh. Just wait. Don't move. Get used to me, love."

Her discomfort easing his urgency to come hard and fast, Brock kissed her aggressively and sought to draw her mind back into her obvious desire. That she wanted him softened his doubts, and he didn't want her ever to doubt his love for her. Never. He'd show her pleasure, and she'd never want to leave again. He nibbled on her nipples, and then soothed them with his tongue while he massaged her breasts until she began to undulate. She groaned as she moved her hips back and forth.

Her movements nudged him fully inside. Pressing against her, he rotated his groin but stayed deep. When he circled his hips, a flush spread over her chest.

"Yes, right there,” she said with glazed eyes.

She grabbed his ass and held on, encouraging him with groans. In this position, Allie sitting on the couch with her bottom hanging part way off, he knelt between her legs, able to view her open to him, his dick buried inside. He took it slow, while his eyes nearly crossed at the sight of her scrumptious curves and his cock moving in and out of her. The power she had over him was complete and unbreakable.

The sight was so exquisite it bordered on painful, especially when the rosy hue on her chest spread wider and grew hotter while her breasts jiggled with his every thrust. His balls drew up and the ultimate pleasure mounted. Curses welled up from his mindless abandon until he streamed a guttural litany, “Come. That's it, cream for me, baby. Come."

His fingers parted her folds, and he flicked a finger across her clit.

She cried out and clutched at his arms.

When he could hold off no longer, he lightly pinched her nub. She came apart, shuddering around his shaft. He exploded inside her, pounding wildly as his semen pumped into her womb.

He let his head fall back and bellowed to the heavens. “Mine!"

Instead of cringing away from his animalistic roar, Allie buried her head against his chest and held him tightly.

Brock's chest lightened, and he smiled. Relief like he'd never known brought him down heavily to sit next to his mate.

She was his. He'd never let her go.

Opening her eyes to the morning, and engulfed by a man, Allie tried to push away. Then the arms around her tightened, and the scent of outdoors and clean air eased her into his embrace.

This was not Max. A broad chest with a dusting of hair and incredible heat surrounded her. She smiled against the warm skin of her mate. The night before had been delicious.

Mate.
She was happier than she'd ever been. Well, the happiest she'd ever been since developing a sex drive with her errant fiancé nowhere to be found, even if she had been too frightened to actually have sex with a werewolf. A willing sacrifice to his sexual hunger, she'd met his passion head on, without fear, and his wild side hadn't hurt her. After being a fool for so long, she couldn't lose him now. Anticipating years ahead with Brock, she wanted to grab that life with both hands and not let go. Could she ask him to change her so she'd grow old with him, stay with him to the ripe old age of two hundred and fifty or so? He was no animal, but could she be one? Would she be able to ask him to make her a wolf?

The faint rays of morning sun filtered through the greasy windows and illuminated their intertwined bodies on the ancient brown leather couch. She had no idea how he had slept. The couch lumped in the middle and reeked of gas, even to her. To him, it must have been overwhelming. Then again, he had tortured and teased her body all night long. He must be exhausted.

She didn't move though she wanted to rinse off the sticky semen and her own moisture from their last bout. He really had done all the work. Not that she had experience with intercourse, but she was willing to learn. He had insisted she lay back and let him pleasure her. He showed her how much he worshiped her, had missed her. He had performed miracles.

Brock had confessed to periodically stalking her the year she'd turned eighteen. He'd watch her from both near and far. Sometimes for weeks on end, so close that her scent clogged his olfactory glands, excluding all other thoughts and feelings. He had known every aspect of her life in the PACk and had been devastated when she ran. She didn't want to imagine how he'd suffered at the hands of Wolfsbane.

"Didn't you know that you are my life, my love?” he'd asked, spearing her heart. “Every moment of everyday I was held by Wolfsbane, you were what kept me human and kept me alive."

Her kisses and murmurings of apology had ended in bliss underneath his body. She opened to his touch. When he sagged toward sleep and curled around her, she'd explained about Max. Brock understood.

"I'm glad for his sake that you weren't lovers."

He wouldn't hurt Max, but would she? Would he understand when she left with Brock? She had to leave this life, this job. Brock couldn't be free here.

She considered her mate now, his expression soft in sleep and lit fully in the sunlight. His lean face hinted that he'd gone without for some time, and her heart melted at the signs of hunger and deprivation. But there the signs ended. His hard and strong body showed no weakness but seemed full of power and lethal prowess.

Handsome features wore dark stubble, which she could still feel rubbing the inside of her legs. The whiskers had burned but made her even hotter for him. His full lips pursed in sleep had been incredibly soft against her skin. His black hair had a few wisps of silver. These were signs of his pelt, not the gray hair of aging. She knew many women would find it distinguished. She found it erotic, a reminder of his wildness. Wildness of nature, not of debasement. How could she think him a brutish animal?

His bright blue eyes opened, and he smiled sleepily at her, “You're awake, love."

Groaning as he stretched, his long body extended off the end of the couch. She enjoyed the sight of his manly attributes spread before her, susceptible to her lustful whims.

"You are magnificent,” she said on a reverent breath. She clamped a fist around her wandering thoughts when her hands responded of their own accord by caressing his chest. “I could stay like this all day, but we have to leave now. My boss will be here soon."

As if she had called him forth just by speaking, she heard the key turn in the outer entrance. Relieved that they had shut the office door, she leapt toward her clothes and threw them on while Brock languidly sat up on the couch.

"What are you waiting for?” She glanced over her shoulder.

Chuckling, he swatted her bottom before she pulled up her jeans, “I don't have any clothes, love."

Before she could formulate a plan, she heard Fonso's muffled yell of, “Holy shit."

Allie sifted through cover stories. Maybe they had shaved a dog and lost Brock's clothes? The bottom dropped out of her stomach when she heard two things.

First, the bolt action of the rifle kept under the register.

Second, the malicious call of the man she thought she knew.

"Here puppy, puppy. Come to Fonso so he can pump you full of silver, you mangy werewolf scum."

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"Let me take care of this.” Allie reached for the door.

"The hell you say!"

She turned to Brock, slashed her hand through the air, and whispered. “Shush! He'll hear you. Trust me to handle this."

Before Brock could respond, she slipped through the door and clicked it shut behind her. He forced himself to stay put. Though he fought the need to tear and rend, he trusted her. He'd stay put for a minute.

Only a minute. Then he was going in.

Allie shut the door behind her and cut off the beginnings of a low growl from Brock.

"Fonso! Glad you're here. Listen, I had to borrow money from the register for a cab—"

"Where's the mutt?” Fonso interrupted.

Fonso did not seem himself. She'd never seen such a fierce expression on his jovial face. His lips tightened in a grim, straight line, and his knuckles turned white on the rifle. As usual, he'd covered his stocky build in oil-stained overalls, black muscle shirt underneath. A bead of sweat ran from his hairline, down the side of his face, and into his shaggy brown beard.

"Allie.” Brutal and cold, he enunciated each word. “Where is the wolf?"

"What wolf?”
Lame, lame, lame. Think, girl.
“Oh, you mean the hair on the floor? That was a joke. You remember my friend Max, right? Tall lanky kid, likes to wear rock band T-shirts. You'll never guess. Just the other day he wore a plain pink shirt, just to turn things on their head, you know? Anyway..."

A deep growl echoed through the room. Allie flinched.

Violently shaking, she put her hands out toward Fonso. The movement pulled the direction of his gaze to her and away from the wolf snarling in the doorway behind her. Scowling, Fonso motioned her toward the front entrance.

"Nice and slow, girl. Get out of here. I've got me a bitch to put down.” He turned the barrel toward Brock.

The grumbling grew louder and closer.

"Listen, he's harmless, really. I'll clean the fur off the floor later, but right now, I'll just take the big guy home. ‘Kay?"

Fonso looked sharply at her. “I guess we both know what he is, girly. I'm disappointed in you. Did he promise to change you? Don't believe him, fool. They can only do that to their bitches. They call them mates, but they're animals like they are. Now, I don't want to hurt you, but my duty is to take down any of his kind. If you get in the way, you're a casualty of war. Get out of here."

He reached for her outstretched arm. Not heeding the warning in Brock's ferocious growling, Fonso's hand closed around her wrist.

As soon as the fingers touched her skin, she sensed movement behind her. Brock leapt through the air, quick as lightening. Jaws closed around Fonso's forearm. At the cry of pain, Brock bore down harder. He shook Fonso back and forth until the man lost his grip on the rifle. It clattered to the floor. Brock jerked Fonso away from the weapon and into the nearest wall.

"Mmph,” was the only sound Fonso made. He slid to the floor.

Before Allie could reach Fonso's side, the bell above the entrance clanked. In a blur, she took in the scene. Holding his bleeding arm, the motionless Fonso eyed the ferocious wolf. Brock, teeth bared, had positioned himself between the gun and Fonso. Brock had his back to the door. The pinging announcement of an addition to the fray drove Brock's snarls to a fevered pitch.

This is going to hell, fast.

"Fuck! Is that a wolf?"

The voice behind her confirmed that she was indeed in hell. She froze in place. “Max, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What about that thing?” Max blanched at the sight of blood but still moved toward Fonso. Then he halted when the wolf blocked his path. He looked at Brock before he swung his attention back to the garage owner. He stood still, indecision in his features. “Hey, man. Are you alright?"

Fonso nodded his reply.

Even as a wolf, Brock's turmoil was easy to read. His blue-eyed stare darted between the two men as if he couldn't decide who to tear apart first, while his body held rigid with menace. This was why she had run. She loved her adopted family. She loved Brock. But an angry werewolf was unpredictable. Dangerous. When threatened, the wolf mind overwhelmed the rational thinking of the human mind.

He would not hurt her. Still, caution was necessary. She walked toward him slowly, purposefully, showing no fear. His fury abated a fraction at her nearness.

"Brock, please."

With a tentative hand, she reached out to scratch behind his ears, and she bent slightly to look into his eyes. “Brock, let go of the rage. Focus on me."

Allie had been so intent on Brock, watching his struggle apparent in his tortured visage, she didn't think of Max. Didn't consider what Max might do. The metallic scrape of the rifle lifted from the floor chilled her. When Brock's eyes flickered, she whispered, “Trust me."

Allie ignored Brock's grumblings and straightened. Fonso still leaned against the wall and thankfully, the bleeding in his arm seemed to have stopped. The man on the motorcycle made sense now. If Fonso sided with Wolfsbane, which made his owning a car garage a good cover, then he knew to keep quiet, wait out the rage.

Allie turned to Max, kept a hand on Brock, and pulled the wolf close to her side. Max visibly shook. Her heart went out to him, but when he leveled the rifle at Brock, her empathy fled, overtaken by cold numbness. Friendship with Max paled in comparison to the debt she owed the PACk and the love for her mate.

"It's okay now. You can put down the gun,” she soothed.

"Did you call that thing Brock? Damn, it's big,” Max said.

"Max, please put it down."

"No way. No way in hell. You need to leave here with me. I called the number you gave me. Your mom told me to stay put and she'd come get you. But all night long, all I could think about was you with the man on the phone. He sounded wild, crazy. Now I come to see if you're okay, and you're coddling a gigantic fucking wolf! What the hell is going on?"

"Brock came for me, and..."

"Where is he? Where is that deadbeat son of a bitch?"

Brock tensed beneath her fingers. His growl filled the small room before he lunged at Max. The fur slipped along her hand, and his sleek body hurled past her. “No!"

The shot of the gun rocked her, and the world stood still. Shouting and angry sounds halted with momentary deafness, stark after the explosion. Harsh ringing in her ears signaled the return of her hearing.

The world moved again.

Allie screamed. The roar in her ears shattered. She fell to the floor next to the injured wolf. Blood streamed from his shoulder. She covered his body to protect him from further shots.

Silver. Got to get the silver out
.

Her fingers explored his matting pelt, and she sickened at the warm stickiness and the sharp smell of his blood. At her touch, he quivered and whimpered. She soothed, “Shh, baby. I'm here. Easy."