A Thread of Deepest Black

Table of Contents Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven About the Author

The seduction of his enemy is the ultimate hunt… When his mortal enemy, the handsome and deadly Colton Dècarie, shows up on his doorstep asking an unspeakable favor, Killian Frost is cautious—and curious. What could drive a shape-shifter to beg a werewolf for an honorable death in the line of duty—defending humans from soul-stealing Lycans? Moreover, why ask Killian, who has kept his own feet off that dark path? Colton’s conflicted heart can take no more of the violence that consumes more of his humanity with every hunt. Even now, Killian’s werewolf scent makes him burn with the instinctive urge to shift and destroy. Death would be a mercy, but the price is impossibly simple: one night of submission in Killian’s bed. Yet as Killian extracts payment in flesh and pleasure, Colton finds himself giving all that’s demanded of him and more, feeling something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Alive. And Killian discovers the hidden cost of sleeping with the enemy. To keep the balance between light and dark, Bella Luna binds his Lycan blood with a quest to unravel a conspiracy threatening all his kind. If he’s brave enough, he’ll discover a love that means more than the power of a dead man’s soul. Warning: Contains plotting and scheming, a wicked, whip-wielding werewolf whose favorite word is “Mine” and a sexy shifter bound with red ribbon whose favorite reply is “I hate you.” eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 A Thread of Deepest Black Copyright © 2011 by Finn Marlowe ISBN: 978-1-60928-358-2 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

A Thread of Deepest Black Finn Marlowe

Dedication

To my friend Kelley L., for taking the big risk and being the first to read my writing.

Chapter One

Seducing the Enemy “Give me one night in my bed and I’ll consider your request.” His answer—his conditional answer—was met with an expression of profound disbelief, comical in its absoluteness, followed by the loud slam of the door when the requestor left without further comment. Still staring at the rattling doorframe with his own not-insignificant disbelief, Killian Frost decided the best remedy for this confusing and utterly bizarre episode was a large, stiff drink. Yes, a very large drink and several much-needed gulps of air. Aside from the needing-a-drink idea, the only thought his stunned brain kept repeating was…what the hell? The liquor was fire on his tongue, no mixer. The fumes curling up into his nose tamped down the lingering smell of his recently departed guest. What the hell? Collapsing into his favorite chair, he barely managed to avoid spilling his drink. Outside the window he noticed the darkened sky and the promise of the cloud-obscured half-moon. After several swallows, he set the drink aside. Perhaps this was a matter that would be better served in contemplation with a clear mind. Better served by closing the curtains too—any Lycanthrope was more rational without the lure of the moon and the rousing of one’s blood, and he was no exception. In this room, his private sanctuary, he had no surveillance. No hidden cameras, no hidden microphones, and he bitterly regretted that hasty decision. He’d give just about anything to replay that conversation, witness the scene again. It wasn’t that he wondered if he’d imagined it. It was just, well…mayb e he’d imagined it. Considering the possibility he was losing his mind was actually easier than recalling who, and what, he had let into his house. His enemy. Let him in freely too—opened the door and allowed him across the threshold. Curiosity always got the better of Killian. Seeing his adversary standing there through the glass pane on the door had filled him with terror, yes, terror, real and absolute. True, it had lasted only a few seconds, but it was not a sensation he liked much. Shaking it off, he’d opened the door— he had nothing to hide, after all, nothing to fear, so why not? They had a smell all their own, shape-shifters, a scent that set them apart from pure-blooded humans, not that he needed it to tell them apart or anything. Shifters were larger than life, absolutely deadly, and besides, he’d known of that one since birth, so it—he—needed no other identification. As far as shifters went, he was a good one. Snorting, Killian shook his head. Yeah, right—a good shifter! Was there such a thing? Still, if it was a case of the devil you knew versus the devil you didn’t, Killian would take that particular one over any other. His enemy’s family was full of naïve do-gooders, shape-shifters who obeyed the law, kept up their end of the treaty as long as Killian’s family kept up theirs, which was why he’d opened the door. Elvis was more likely to show up on his step than one of them. Closing his eyes, he replayed the whole thing over in his mind, having no electronic back-up to rely upon, from his first glimpse to the last, the one ending with his making that improbable—no, that impossib le—statement. They’d eyed each other through the glass, taken each other’s measure. In his human form, the shifter didn’t look so scary, but looks could be deceiving, couldn’t they? Lycans tended to be dark, and Killian was no exception, from hair to eyes, both blue-black. The shifter on his step was his opposite: blond, and he liked blonds, male or female, and not just blond either, but…pretty.

Not exactly handsome to his eyes—women would call the shifter handsome—but his enemy was just a tad too beautiful to be called handsome by any man. Very nice hazel eyes stared back at Killian, eyes a touch too watchful to make you forget what he was, and a mouth made for sin, or would be if he wasn’t such a goddamn do-gooder. “Killian Frost,” he’d said simply, softly. Damned shifters always had seductive voices—not unlike Lycans, he supposed. “Colton Décarie.” When the mutual staring, hate and distrust waned and it became obvious the man wasn’t going to shift into something nasty on his porch and kill him, Killian managed to find his voice. “What do you want?” “A word. If I may.” “A word?” “Yes. May I come in?” Fortunately Killian was a master of self-control. In his family, it was necessary for survival, and he schooled his face into a forced, unreadable blankness. “Come in? You want me to let you into my house? Are you fucking crazy?” “I just want to talk.” The shifter smiled sweetly. “I’m not hunting.” “That’s so reassuring! Why don’t you just get in your fancy little car there and go back to the crazy place you came from? You can talk there all you want. I’m sure you’ll be all alone with no one to interrupt you.” “It’ll be worth your while, I assure you.” “There’s nothing you could possibly say that would be worth letting you into my house.” “Oh but there is. I promise.” “No.” “I promise not to shift if you don’t.” Killian’s throat offered up a derogatory noise. “You know I keep my word. You know.” Killian did, in fact, know it. Stupid shifter! And this one was guileless, positively radiating innocence. Only Killian knew he wasn’t innocent. Colton was a killer. Still…if a Décarie gave his word, he kept it. While Killian’s blood ran thick with the power of his kind, never having hunted humans before put him at a distinct disadvantage when it came to fighting shifters. He had no experience. Even an inexperienced shifter could likely kill him, and this one was by no means inexperienced. Word was Colton was talented, a prodigy amongst his kind, a superb shifter and very powerful despite his gangly human frame. But there it was…that stupid prickle of curiosity that sang to his blood almost as sweetly as La Bella Luna. “You promise you won’t turn into something with big teeth and do something you won’t be proud of later?” “I promise,” Colton said solemnly. Killian still raised a disbelieving brow. “On my very soul,” the young man added. A promise on his soul? Whatever this crazy shifter wanted, he wanted it bad. Not only was he a master of self-control, Killian also was a master manipulator. That too was necessary for survival in his family, since Lycans were naturally untrustworthy, even kin. He might have liked to consider things further, but what he said was, grudgingly, “Come in.” There was no way he could pass up on an opportunity to have a shifter owe him. At least the strange one seemed hesitant, not quite happy, either, to be entering the den of his enemy. Apparently, werewolves didn’t smell very good to shifters —rotting meat and a touch of brimstone, with a wisp of death thrown in. Killian hoped Colton was choking on it. “Is this going to take long?” Killian asked. What was the protocol for conversing with your ancient enemy? Did one offer him a seat? Certainly not a drink. He’d die first. “Depends on your answer,” replied Blondie. “Shit,” he mumbled, leading him into his study next door. His enemy in his sanctuary—could he sink any lower? Colton remained standing, tense and alert, while Killian chose to sit on the loveseat, settling slowly, playing it out for effect, waiting to see what favor he could bestow on this most unlikely of all askers. Blondie was nervous. Killian liked it very much. “Well?” Pretty blond boy licked his red lips. “Spit it out, shifter, I haven’t got all day.” With a deep, pained breath, Blondie did. “I want you to kill me.” Numbness spread from the tips of his toes all the way up to the roots of his hair. It invaded his brain, rendering him thoughtless and speechless. His heart might have paused in its beating—felt like it, anyway. Then his nerves woke painfully—a flash fire. “Pardon me?” Blondie’s external façade of cool calmness wavered for a split second, revealing a weak link in his personal chainmail. “I want—” His breath hitched. “I want you to kill me.” Nothing was better than exploiting a weakness, even if it belonged to a pretty, but obviously demented, shifter—especially a pretty blond shifter. “Kill you?” Killian repeated, the words falling off his tongue. Was that his voice sticking just the tiniest bit? Killian had to hand it to Blondie. Colton’s wide-open eyes met his with a directness Killian found disconcerting, even though he could see the shifter struggling, struggling and trying to cover it, quite masterfully, but Killian was better at it and could spot every tell. It’ll b e worth my while? Bullshit! This is worth so much more than that. “I don’t want to live anymore.” What did one say to that? Especially to one’s enemy? Anybody else and he’d expect a trick. Shifters, on the whole, were crappy liars and pathetic tricksters. Maybe, though? Suspicious again, he narrowed his eyes at his unwelcome guest. “Where did you escape from again?” “I’m serious.” “I don’t see that’s any concern of mine. One less Décarie in the world would be a gift. A gift!” Better even than a naked human chained to a stake during a full moon with free rein to do as he wished—but what was the catch? “Get your own kind to deal with you. I hear your precious Council deals out merciful executions from time to time. Rogue shifters and all that?” “I don’t want to wait that long. Don’t want to let it get to that—I want an honorable death.” This was getting good. “Honorable? How is my killing you honorable? You want me to violate the treaty. You want me to hunt you and kill you and revive the feud between our families? How the bloody hell is that honorable?” Folding his hands together with a tight wring was Blondie’s only outward sign of discomposure. The rest of him, his face, was calm again, determined. “I’ll fix it beforehand so no one knows it was you. No blame. I don’t want anyone to know. Truly, the treaty must be kept, as must the truce between our families. It hasn’t been easy sharing the city with you, but…well…the truce has been good for all of us, hasn’t it? We’ve all prospered, no? I want it to continue after I’m gone. It’ll be our little secret.” Resisting temptation had always been easy for Killian. He liked humans—sort of. They had lots of uses, many of them pleasurable. As much as the notion of hunting appealed to him, he’d long ago discovered that what held all the appeal was the chasing, not the catching. To sink his teeth deep into a tender human neck and end all future possibilities seemed a great waste, a waste not even worth the chance at capturing a human soul. Then to live in fear of a shifter finding out you’ve imprisoned that soul for your own benefit—not worth it. As they put it, “You will not be forgiven.” Nobody, not his father, not his remaining brothers, not even his wickedest cousins, uncles and other assorted family members, held a grudge like a shifter. Décaries held grudges so long and so deeply, Killian wondered if the memory of a grudge got passed in their DNA along with shifting genes and innate politeness. Denying the temptation of what this crazy shifter was offering was something else. Kill him? Take a life freely offered? Ooh b oy! Had any Lycanthrope ever been made such an offer in the history of the world? Alas, Mama Frost didn’t raise no fools. Returning the youngest Décarie’s level gaze, he asked, “Why me?” Perplexed, Blondie tilted his head, clearly not understanding. “Why me? Why are you asking me?” “You wouldn’t consider it fair?” For a second, Killian was confused too. “Ah. You mean a life for a life?” This particular shifter’s brother Drayton had killed his half-brother years earlier, hence the fair part, not that Killian held any resentment. It had actually been kind of a relief before the stupid fool ruined everything and brought down the entire family. “My brother was out hunting, shifter. Hunting your precious humans and got caught red-handed, so to speak. Got caught in shifted form standing over a dead body in full and complete violation of the treaty. We have no quarrel with your brother. The nohunting rule was agreed upon in exchange for lasting peace, and he chose to violate it. If he paid the ultimate price for it, well, that was his decision.” “He was your brother. Don’t you care?” “Why are you trying to pick a fight over finished business?” Blondie clearly was stumped. “The treaty was formed so we could finally end what had always been our endless feud, Colton Décarie. An agreement made to end the non-stop killing before there was none of us left to fight. I’m in favor of the live-and-let-live rule, shifter.” “Don’t you miss the hunt?” Killian sighed. “Can’t miss what you’ve never known.” Either this crazy shifter was remarkably stupid and clueless, or he truly didn’t understand the concept of a werewolf not desiring the hunt—or rather, not giving in to that desire. His expression suggested the second option. It was interesting watching the gears turn in that lovely blond head. “So you can’t do it, then?” “Can’t?” Killian laughed at the other’s expense. “Sure I can. But I’m not going to.” Things were clearly not going according to Blondie’s plan, for his confused expression suggested he’d not anticipated this little snag. “You don’t want me, then?” Killian could have swallowed his own tongue. Colton Décarie’s words had an entirely different meaning from what he’d heard and taken as an alternate meaning, and one that was thoroughly disgusting. It took a moment to reorganize it into the proper context. Once done, he could think again. The time had come to see how far he could push the boy. Repeated shifting altered the aging process. Colton looked young, barely legal, and entirely too innocent despite being close to thirty, just as Killian was —absolutely not a boy despite that sweet mouth. Killian stood. Colton kept his place on the carpet even as Killian walked around him slowly, sinuously, shamelessly stalking the deadly creature inches from his face. The willpower it must have taken for the shifter to keep his head forward and not swivel it around like something out of The Exorcist amazed him. “You sure this is what you want, shifter?” The reply was swift and sure. “Yes.” “Why? Why do you want to die?” he said to the back of Colton’s head. Standing behind him instead of sitting in front of him made Killian realize that his nemesis was roughly the same height, perhaps an inch or two shorter than his own six-foot-five, not the smaller, weaker thing he’d originally thought. And Colton was all wiry muscle too—hunting werewolves must be good exercise. When he stopped back at the front, the shifter answered him. “My reasons are my own.” So…the little bastard had a touch of defiance in him, then. Killian liked crushing defiance as much as he liked exploiting weakness. It gave a delicious thrill. “Perhaps you should think it over a bit? It’s not like you can change your mind after the fact.” “I’ve thought it over. I’m ready.”

Surprisingly, the shifter did sound ready. Ready and absolutely determined. Taunting Blondie and liking it, Killian slunk behind his enemy again, getting closer, shirtsleeves brushing. Time to push harder. “You’ll kneel for me, then, shifter?” he whispered evilly in his ear. In another show of defiance, Colton’s shoulders tensed and his head snapped up. Proud, he remained standing. A man not used to kneeling for anyb ody. Such a sweet challenge! Pushing was working only moderately well. Time to shove. “I thought you said you were ready?” His shove met resistance, a sucked-in breath. “What were you planning, then, shifter? You want me to chase you through dark streets, teeth snapping? Shall we wait for the next full moon so I’m stronger, so that the light can call to my blood? Or were you wanting to wait for that proverbial once in a Blue Moon?” Killian took another step and breathed hotly in the shifter’s ear. Ah. Ambrosia, it made him shudder. Mind you, the shifter’s scent was getting to him too…indescribable. “I guess you’re not as ready as you thought?” Blondie made a noise that sounded suspiciously growl-like and, for the first time, it occurred to Killian the danger he was in. Colton Décarie could shift quick as lightning and be twice as deadly. It might be prudent to quit shoving. It wasn’t necessary to give it further contemplation, for Colton relaxed his shoulders, tilted his head slightly and gracefully lowered himself to the floor. Stunned, Killian couldn’t believe the sight before him. His enemy, the only creature capable of killing a phased Lycanthrope, a beautiful young shifter in his prime, was on his knees. On his knees, defenseless, at his feet and in the privacy of his own house! His mouth began to water. A thin slice of moonlight caressed him through the not-quite-gathered curtains. Pressure mounted in his chest, tight but unidentifiable. What was it? Anticipation? Desire? Need? The soft, whispering voice from below him brought him out of his trance. “Be swift.” God! The shifter thought he was going to kill him right now. Killian’s hand trembled as he reached for the back of that dirty blond head. Touching the shifter with his fingertips hurt physically —tight. So tight in his chest! Hard to breathe! Such terror and such need! Pressing harder, ever so slightly firmer, Killian ran his fingers lower, down through silky hair to find hot skin underneath, and so finding, he sent the shifter’s head forward. “Bow your head down for me,” he ordered. Submitting, the wondrous killing machine on the floor bent his head. Snatching a handful of hair, Killian lifted it off the back of his enemy’s neck, revealing a vulnerable and unprotected spine. Fine white hairs dusted his spinal column. Right there! He could bite right there and kill him instantly. Blondie’s pale hair was darker on the underside, he noticed for no good reason. And soft. Fine, like down. With splayed fingers, he encircled the neck of a man he’d always hated and feared. Blondie must have nerves of steel and balls of iron. Killian could hear him panting softly, struggling to submit and fighting against his very nature, the nature that said kill all Lycans. Yet he remained on his knees and trembled. Yes, he was trembling. Gently, but it was an all-over, full-body tremor. Such willpower. Killian was sure he’d be shaking much harder should their positions be reversed with him at the feet of his enemy. Killian discovered respect. And in those few seconds, he also discovered he’d much rather do something else to the pretty golden-haired shifter than destroy him. Splayed fingers tightened into a fist, snagging a chunk of hair with ruthless abandon. He yanked. Colton’s head snapped up, and Killian met defiant hazel eyes with his fathomless dark ones. “Killing you is not enough!” he barked. “I want more.” Colton was about to snap. Fury was growing in the place of defiance, and Killian had no wish for a taste of shifter fury. “What more do you want, Lycan?” “I want it all. Give me everything!” His voice was as ruthless as the hand knotting his hair. “I’ll take everything!” “What is everything?” the shifter demanded angrily. “I’m already giving you everything. I’m giving you my life. I’m giving you revenge. I’m giving you the ultimate hunt. Hunt me! Do it, Lycan. You want to. I know you do. Hunt me! What else do you want? What else could you possibly want?” The tightness in his chest was not abating. In fact, it was spreading, consuming him and burning everywhere. What did he want? It was a thing far beyond fantasy. Could he say it? Did he dare? Of all the things Killian Frost was, cowardly wasn’t one of them, so he said it. “Give me one night in my bed and I’ll consider your request.” When the snap came, he was only half prepared. Colton chose to relinquish a fistful of hair as he ripped his head from the tight grasp. A powerful and painful elbow shot out and thudded Killian in the thigh, bruising and numbing it. Once Colton was erect and facing him, Killian noted that the lush red mouth was hanging open, no longer so sweet. Something icy and otherworldly had taken up residence in the hazel eyes. He’s gonna shift, Killian thought with a strange kind of detachment. He’s gonna shift and kill me. But he didn’t. Colton gaped with shock and dismay. When he was finished with that, he turned silently on his heel and left, slamming the door decisively and leaving the boom to ring in the empty hall. Killian opened his clenched fingers. Strands of gold worth ten thousand times more than any metal from the ground drifted to the floor, light as feathers, full of musky fragrance. What in the hell had possessed him to ask that?

Chapter Two

Despite his nightly fantasies and imaginings of whispered words, Killian didn’t expect to speak to the crazy shape-shifter again—ever. See, yes, they did share the same city and their paths did cross from time to time. Mostly they avoided each other, his family and theirs, having their separate interests and purposefully keeping them separate. Hostility was the only possible outcome of inadvertent meetings, and in the dark, hostility could lead to worse things. When the house phone rang Killian always checked the call display, refusing to speak to people he didn’t want to—family, mostly. Usually they called to forward their latest scheme, unless it was his mother. She called to forward her plans regarding her latest hand-picked Lycan woman. It was her opinion that he’d stalled long enough and it was time to mate with the chosen female and propagate the species. Mate was the word too. It wasn’t like he was allowed to have an opinion, just a ready and able penis. The phone number flashing on the display made him forget all annoyance with pestering mothers. C. Décarie. It had only been a day or two since he quit mouthing What the hell? all the time and now he was right back at it, instantly, and out loud too. The phone almost switched to the answering machine before he snatched up the receiver and sputtered, “What?” “Killian?” Just one word and he was breathing harder. “Yeah?” “It’s Colton Décarie.” “I know.” “Can we meet somewhere?” His cock agreed first. Yes, ab solutely, it said. Surely the boy wasn’t considering his impossible condition? Soundlessly, he gulped in a needed mouthful of air. All his blood, and therefore oxygen, was rushing downward real fast. “Where’d you have in mind?” Come here and come alone, he silently wished. “I was thinking the park. Downtown, at the lake.” Damn. Could you get more public than that? Guess the shifter wasn’t considering his proviso after all. Masterfully, he schooled his voice to his I-could-care-less mode. “When?” “Tonight?” My, my, someone was in a hurry. “I guess. What time?” “Late. Midnight?” “But then it would be tomorrow and not tonight.” A puff of annoyed breath crackled his way. “Are you coming or not?” Not very patient, either. “I’ll be there. Where exactly?” “Under the willows. It’s private.” “What? Don’t want to be seen with me?” “No. Not really. Hurt?” “Not at all. I’ll come.” The phone went dead without so much as a goodbye, making Killian smile. Snappy and impatient? Maybe Blondie was considering certain…exchanges? The hours crawled by, painfully slowly, just about killing him. His curiosity was burning him up. It was like waiting for Christmas Day and a hoped for, but not really expected, present under the tree. At 11:30 p.m. he locked his door and made for the park, speeding recklessly and fearing another ticket—sooner or later they’d land him in jail if he didn’t cool it. It was very warm. Killian loved summertime. Evidently humans loved it too, since there were quite a few of them strolling about the brightly lit walkway. The water shimmered softly with the reflection of streetlamp and bright moon shine. Fearless, he crossed the bridge and made for the willows at the water’s edge. Lurking bad guys would be wise to watch out for him; the moon was out. Not that there would be any left for him; Colton would have cleared them out already. Speaking of Colton, he was here. Killian caught his scent quickly and felt his power vibrating. The ground at the edge of the lapping lake was squishy and rank, but solid and oddly fragrant under the massive willows. Colton’s scent drove him forward and mapped his way to where Killian found him sitting on a purloined picnic table parked next to the massive tree trunk. Enough light filtered under the wispy branches to identify the man’s face and features cast into sharp relief by shadow. In the shadows he looked more handsome and less pretty. “You came,” Colton said. “I said I would.” When Colton flung himself off the table like a teenager, Killian took his spot, slightly warmed. The shifter’s pacing said a thousand words his voice could not. “What did you want, Blondie?” Stopping abruptly, Colton faced him, not liking the insulting nickname. It might be dark, but defiance had its own light. “I wondered if you reconsidered your ridiculous demand.” “Not one bit.” Arm swinging replaced the pacing. “How could you ask that? How? It’s sick!”

“What part? The fact that I’m a Lycanthrope and you’re a Therianthrope and therefore my mortal enemy? Or the fact you know I want you on your knees serving me?” Smiling to himself, Killian went on as ruthless as before. “Or is it the fact I’m a man?” It required further grinning when he realized he’d rendered the shifter speechless. “Well? You were all talkative a second ago—” “All three,” Colton complained. “And the first two much more so than the last.” Ah, good God! Killian closed his eyes for a second. What did I do to deserve such a b lessing? Is it b ecause I’ve never killed anyone despite the b lood-b orne desire to want to? “Do you have any idea how impossible that would be for me? To have you touch me?” “I’ve already touched you.” “And it burned!” Killian flicked his eyes open. He’d forgotten that completely. Shifters suffered. They suffered a lot. During growth spurts until they reached manhood, they had to endure fierce burning in their bones for days at a time and then to shift—that burned too. More pain. But the worst part, in his estimation, was the whole sex thing. Almost made you feel sorry for the pathetic creatures. That hurt too. Sexual desires and sensing werewolves hurt roughly equally, one confused with the other, but that was only until they were grown and got control of their emotions and their abilities. Was it because Colton was gifted? There was no reason his touch should hurt. “Why did my touch hurt you, Blondie?” “Why do you think?” he snarled. “I don’t know. You’re all grown up—I should think you’d be over that by now.” Clenching his hands into fists, Colton glared at him. In the dark he looked much more like the demonic thing he was. “You’re still a werewolf!” Killian shuddered. “Why don’t you say that a bit louder, Blondie? There might be one or two humans left in the park who didn’t hear you.” “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “See? This is pointless.” “Do I really smell that bad?” “Yes!” he hissed. “Your blood does, it calls to me, calls to my blood, makes me want to…” He shrugged and left the rest unsaid. “Your body smells…slightly better.” “Hmm.” Perhaps it was an insurmountable problem. Or was it just a question of familiarity? “Maybe you just need to get used to me.” Colton gave him a dirty look for his suggestion. “Come stand closer.” “No, thank you.” “Like sucking in flames, is it? Burning gasoline? Rotting meat? All three?” “Yes! Almost the same. I’ve been around your kind enough that it’s not that bad anymore. But you still make me want to shift. I long to shift.” “Get over it.” “I can’t! I’ve tried. God knows, I’ve tried.” The desperation in his voice was pure. It had something to do with the whole suicide-by-werewolf thing, but Killian knew this was one subject not to broach; it wasn’t a pushable button right now. Nimble also, he launched himself off the table, and Colton’s reflexes instantly reacted, sending him into a defensive posture. “Relax, shifter,” he cautioned. “You’re going to have to relax.” “Why?” “Because I’m going to touch you.” “No, you’re not!” “I am. You just need to get used to me, as I said.” Tentatively, he took a small step forward. Colton’s nostrils flared. “Relax. Stop breathing so hard. Slow down.” “I hate you! Why can’t you just kill me like a decent werewolf?” It was an absurd statement, and he laughed. “I’m not decent. In fact, the things I want to do to you are all indecent. You give me what I want and I’ll consider giving you what you want.” “That’s such a crappy argument, you know. You’ll consider it? How ’bout I give you what you want and you give me what I want?” “Nope. You’re asking for so much more than I am. It’s not a fair deal and us Frosts really hate to get taken of advantage of.” Less tentative this time, he moved closer. “Now stop stalling and come here.” “I don’t want to.” “I know. That’s the best part.” Colton was within touching distance, and Killian wanted to touch. Wanted to feel the shifter’s pulse leap when he touched his chest and his heart race when he touched those nice red lips with his own. As far as forbidden fruit went, it didn’t get any more delicious. To have a shifter bend to his will like this? Not even hunting would compare. The moment had arrived for another push. “You’ll like it,” he promised. Colton obviously didn’t agree, but he didn’t move an inch, not even when Killian slowly reached a hand out and touched the heaving chest under the thin, dark T-shirt. And the shifter’s pulse did leap. And Killian liked it. The touch started with only the tips of two fingers. Impatient, wanting to grab, Killian schooled his thoughts once more. No rushing! Seduction was an art, not a race. And he wanted Colton Décarie seduced, not forced, not raped. If he couldn’t have his willing submission, he would take nothing at all, despite his claims to the contrary. It took at least a full minute, but Killian didn’t rush him, he simply waited for Colton’s pulse to slow. Then he flattened his palm out just beneath the other man’s nipple, right over his thudding heart. The muscle contracted tightly. Once the palm was accepted, he slid it slowly, gently, a caress. Firm muscles rippled. “Does that hurt?” he asked. The deep breath Blondie took was felt under his hand. “No.” “See? It’s all in the getting used to. In the acceptance.” “You smell like burnt matches.” “I’ve never killed. Never hunted. You don’t need to smell fire in me.” “It’s so hard not to.” “Shhh. Relax.” “I can’t! I don’t know what you want me to do.” Ah. Such innocence. “Are you a virgin?” Colton jolted with surprise, but not hard enough to dislodge his hand. “No, of course not. I was married, you know.” “I know.” Yes, indeed he knew, and had even crossed paths with her, his lovely and vibrant wife, the lost wife, the murdered wife. Was that why Colton was rushing toward death with both arms outstretched? Killian also liked mysteries, but one at a time. “I meant have you ever been with a man before?” Blondie’s eyes lowered. “No.” Biting his own cheek was the only way Killian kept himself from shuddering. A pretty, demented, virgin shifter. Christ! And though he couldn’t see it, he knew Blondie was blushing. Honestto-God blushing. Damn, but this was so good. “But the thought’s crossed your mind before? You’ve considered it?” Now Colton was lowering his whole head, not just the eyes. Killian was sure of the blushing this time. He could feel the heat reaching out to him. “Say it,” he ordered. “Say it out loud.” Blondie had to swallow hard, but he did it, he gave it up. “Yes.” Jesus! The angels must be weeping. Killian wanted to join them. He was so going to make Colton Décarie beg. Yes, he would beg on his knees for it. And he would give it to him. To start, Killian slid his hand upward, brushing the covered nipple with his forefinger and eliciting a gasp from unwilling lips. “I’m coming closer now.” Under his hand, Colton’s pulse resumed its rapid beat. It was all good. He moved in close, so close he was able to press his other hand to the shifter’s waist and breathe deliberately hot on his face. Wincing, Colton closed his eyes. “It’s all in the acceptance, Décarie. Accept me.” “You make me burn,” the shifter whispered. “And I intend to make you beg. Give yourself to me.” Blondie made that growling sound in his throat again, muted this time, and it was very arousing. Killian couldn’t believe what he was about to do—kiss a shifter. Never would have occurred to him in wildest dreams, and he was a wild dreamer, and he was actually gonna do it. “Give yourself to me, Colton. Give me your mouth.” Christ, even saying the man’s given name was a thrill! Submission was learned skill and one Blondie didn’t have. He needed teaching. He needed dominating. Eager, Killian hooked his arm around one wide shoulder as his fingers sought that downy lick of hair on the back of Colton’s neck he remembered so vividly, and gripped tightly. Colton whimpered. It was in horror, in defiance of submitting, but he would take it. Killian really, really liked to make them whimper. Blondie did try to pull away then, not voluntarily, but his body was rebelling. “No! Don’t fight me. Give it all to me instead.” Jerking the shifter’s body tight against his own provided a rush of pleasant sensations, all of them varying degrees of hard. Not tentative this time, he put his mouth on Colton Décarie’s and closed his eyes tightly, not seeing, not thinking—just feeling. If he whimpered out loud himself, he couldn’t hear it over Colton’s louder ones. As much as he wanted to shove his tongue in Blondie’s mouth, he didn’t. No rushing. He was seducing, not taking. But damn, that whimpering was enough to drive a man to extreme measures. Killian did allow himself to kiss harder and deeper because it was damned well impossible not to, but he only sucked and licked the full lips and didn’t let his tongue have its way. Blondie’d probably bite him anyway. With one last lick he pulled his face away. Panting, Colton turned his face aside. Killian held him close, though. There’d be no escape. “Oh God,” he said between gulps of air. “Oh God!” “Not so bad, was it? Did it kill you?” “Let me go!” “No. Not just yet. You’re not doing a very good job of accepting me. You need more practice.” Straining to get away and trying not to be obvious about it, Colton shook. “I can’t do it. It burns! I can’t bear it.” “Yes, you can.” Killian nudged him with the zipper of his jeans, hitting him in the same spot, metal teeth to metal teeth. “You’re hard. You’re aroused and you liked it. Not only can you bear it, you want to bear it. You’ll like it. I’ll ensure you like it.” “Release me, Lycan!” Blondie had given all he could for the moment, as much as Killian wanted more. Didn’t mean he couldn’t release him slowly, touching and caressing the whole time, hands sliding where they willed. Colton’s control was slipping and the sounds he was making now were dangerous whimpers. Not quite as lovely as the other kind. Things improved slightly when Killian removed the arm that encircled shoulder and back. It was the restraining hold that was being fought most. The hand remaining on the young man’s abdomen was slid lower, slowly and deliberately, over flat belly, over jean waistband, across heavy metal button. Killian had to make sure. All the proof he needed was under his hand. Blondie may hate him, true, but he also wanted him. Applying just a hint of pressure, Killian stroked him, just once, and removed his hand. Any shifter was dangerous; a shifter in his prime was positively deadly. Colton leapt backward as Killian retracted his hand, a long, agile jump, and when he landed he was in a crouch, not a defensive one—the other kind, the hunting kind, the pouncing kind. “Stop!” Killian blurted. Alarm struck instantly and without mercy and he went straight to Red Alert. His Lycan blood boiled. Transform ! it ordered. Hunt! it begged. The pressure under his

facial bones blossomed, his cheekbones began to elongate and the red glow seeped into his eyes, strengthening his vision. Soon that red light would be visible to the shifter and it would all be over then. “No shifting,” he snarled, but whether it was to himself or to Colton Décarie, he couldn’t have said. “No shifting!” Colton really must be a masterful shifter. The telltale white glow did not flicker around his body and human he remained—ready and able to strike—but human, with his full power held in check. Incredib le! Killian’s eyes were drawn to Colton’s long expanse of white neck and the pulse that thrummed there. Every inch of Killian’s skin felt the heat radiating off the other’s body—sweet, tasty heat. His tongue caught on a suddenly sharp tooth. For once in all his years, Killian Frost was having difficulty crushing his werewolf desires under his mental heel. Not only inflamed in response to the shifter’s threat, his body was afire with lust, unfulfilled and urgent lust. “I see a red spark growing in your eyes,” Colton accused. His seductive voice had dropped into a deep and unfamiliar timbre, one that prickled Killian’s skin and signaled the imminent appearance of furry pelt. One of them had to quit this. “Back down, Blondie,” he ordered in his changing voice. It was really only him that had the problem, not the shifter. His self-control was abandoning him and there was nothing Killian hated more than not being in control. Mercy smiled upon him at last—Colton rose from his crouch. It was enough. The red light that tinged his hunt-mode vision flickered and died, leaving him to see the other anew, with the eyes of a man and not those belonging to the dark wolf. His face took back its handsome form. The sharp teeth were the last to go, cutting his tongue as they went, coppery blood mixing with saliva and filling his mouth. Swallowing it, Killian took back control of himself. When Colton spoke again, his natural voice was back. “See?” he said. “It can’t be done. It’s too unnatural. We set each other off.” The demanding lust had not abated and was throbbing painfully between his legs and overshadowing every other emotion, including fear. “We can set each other off in other ways,” he replied. “It’s not possible. Why can’t you see that? You ask for the impossible. It can’t be done.” Killian heard the lie in the shifter’s voice, hidden under the frustration. “It can.” He licked his own blood off his lips. “Why didn’t you let me kill you, then? I was halfway there.” It was checkmate. And Blondie knew it, but chose to argue anyway. “I didn’t shift.” “But you would have. Have you suddenly discovered a reason to live? Is there a new reason you want to hang around a bit longer?” “No!” That made him laugh. “Lie to yourself all you want, pretty boy, but you can’t lie to me. I know you.” Colton’s defiant streak was miles wide and deep as the bottom of the sea. Killian wanted to break it very badly. Blondie turned and lowered himself onto his thighs, not exactly kneeling, but close. “Try again,” he urged. “I just can’t watch—I just can’t see you coming.” “Are you scared of me?” “Damn it—yes.” This pleased Killian. A little fear was a valuable thing. A lot was no good, but a little was very good. “Do it!” “Forget it,” Killian snapped. “You haven’t given me what I want, so I’m damned well not giving you what you want. Go home, Blondie. Come back to me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.” Killian walked by him and paused behind his back and then, rather a touch more savagely than intended, he kicked Colton Décarie’s ass hard enough to send him flying onto his face into the dry leaves. Not looking back, he exited the overhanging canopy and went home, wondering how long it would take for his phone to ring. Killian knew it would.

Chapter Three

Blondie was being stubborn. That’s all it was—stubbornness. Breaking the lad of that trait would be doubly hard, linked together as it was with so much innate defiance. Then again, Killian knew he was up to the challenge. But Colton must come to him of his own free will. It was the most important thing of all. If Killian went and fetched him, Colton would come, but then it wouldn’t be total surrender and that was the thing Killian wanted most, the priceless thing. Complete and total submission or nothing. How could he prod the shifter along without seeming to? The matter required serious consideration, something he couldn’t give while fucking the woman currently underneath him. She was clawing his sides with dragon-lady fingernails, totally ruining his concentration on other matters. Damn, he knew he should have tied her hand and foot, but his heart just wasn’t in it. His true desire lay elsewhere. He didn’t want her; it just seemed more expedient to go along with his mother’s scheme than to try to worm his way out of it. It was getting annoying, totally ruining what little interest he’d worked up—what was her name again? Killian slapped her arms down and pinned her wrists to the mattress, effectively ending her clawing session. Sounds she was making would normally have thrilled him, but not tonight. She was close to coming and he hoped she would hurry up. At least climaxing himself would take the edge off his hunger—he squeezed her wrists tighter and thrust into her harder and she went off like a rocket. Killian was always fair. He wasn’t playing the game fair, though, and totally cheating, was wearing a condom to piss off his mother. He wasn’t a stud horse. His cock was lusting for someone else. It was hard to get off. Taking a step he prided himself on never having to take, he thought about Colton’s mouth and all the things he wanted to do to it, to help himself along. It worked instantly. The rush of pleasure struck hard and fast, his balls tightening as he spent himself into a piece of latex and rescued himself from a fate worse than death. He’d pick the mother of his children himself, thank you very much. And the next person he fucked was going to be Colton Décarie, damn it! After he finished up with this episode of unsatisfying sex and sent the woman on her way, he could work on strategy, plan his next move. He rushed her and had her out the door when she wanted to stay all night—yuck! Not bloody likely. Her name kept escaping him, and it was shamefully unworthy of him. She deserved better. Killian never lied in one regard, and never said he’d phone someone if he had no intention of it. And he never said to her he would. Cold water might have been a better choice, but he allowed himself lukewarm to wash away the woman’s scent and cleanse himself. He wanted to fill his nose with a different, unknowable scent—Colton’s. Things were really getting out of hand; bloody stupid, crazy, pretty shifter had him totally spellbound. Could scarce think straight. Control was everything, and he was losing his fast. He had to do something. Frustrated, he toweled himself roughly and thrust on a robe with angry hands. Colton Décarie needed another push. Women were much easier to push than men, and Blondie was the hardest push of all. Normally he’d use flowers for a woman he wanted, but that didn’t work so well with men—most men. Or he’d send a thoughtful gift unique to that person, but the boy was different and needed something else. Colton was rapidly changing his sexual preference too. All Killian could think of was steely muscles and lean thighs when he’d always appreciated breasts and hips just a touch more. Bloody devil had him forgetting who he was; he was the master! It was time to regain control of things. Seeking inspiration, he stepped into his walk-in closet and pulled open a drawer. Instead of ties like a normal man, he had other things in there, things created for violence, pleasurable violence, but only in the right hands. His hands. But not for Colton—not that he didn’t want to use them on that proud, defiant body—he’d like that very much, but no. Dreaming, he fingered a tightly braided leather whip with reverence. No, not for Colton. Colton didn’t need to feel any more pain, as it was in close company all the time anyway. Some people needed a taste of the lash, but not his pretty shifter. He needed something else. And he couldn’t spill a drop of shifter blood, either. Not that he liked to do that as a rule anyway, but mistakes could happen—he was a strong man. His werewolf senses couldn’t tolerate the scent of shifter blood any more than Colton’s shifter senses could withstand the scent of Killian’s spilled blood. It would push them both too far into that dark abyss. He closed the drawer and opened another, his thoughts surging forward. Killian knew what Colton needed, oh yes he did. He needed to submit. Yes, that’s what Colton needed, to give it up completely, let it all go, to put all his considerable will into someone else’s hands. Killian’s hands would do just fine. As much as it pained him to admit the truth, Colton bore a heavy weight upon those finely made shoulders, a weight he, as his enemy the werewolf, was strangely in the best position to understand, being the kind that put it there. Colton felt the weight of thousands of human souls on his shoulders. And assuredly, the weight of many other things too, things that sent him to his enemy’s door seeking what he considered an honorable death. In time, Killian would coax those reasons from Colton’s lips, but they weren’t really necessary to understand the essential fact, and that was that Colton needed to submit completely in his bed. That was the fact. Killian understood these things. And he understood he wanted to fix the demented, pretty shape-shifter. There was nothing altruistic in it, not at all. He wanted to keep the peace, and Décaries kept it. His life was exactly as he liked it. It wouldn’t do to have some other shifter family move in and take up the slack. It was hard training them. Better to fix a broken one and put it back then go to all the trouble of dealing with a new bunch. Shifters were a pain. Drawer number two wasn’t nearly as interesting as drawer number one, but it did have a few redeeming items. Smiling, he pulled out a thick, black silk cord, twirling it in his fingers. It felt wonderful. With a sigh, he put it back in the drawer. He couldn’t bind Colton, either. True submission was given, not taken. Maybe another time? He could easily imagine those taut muscles straining against the black cord…it gave him a tiny shiver of pleasure. Then he found that which he sought. Wound tightly on its spool was a length of dark red ribbon. Satin and slick, it looked like wet blood. The pad of his sensitive fingertip liked the feel of it. Oddly, he couldn’t remember obtaining it, but no matter, it was perfect. Just a suggestion of submission could be had from a yard of the stuff. Colton would figure it out. The shifter was looking for an outlet and Killian would give it to him. He snipped a length with manicure scissors from his bathroom, just the width of his own arms, and neatly trimmed the edges. It was enticing, dangling the silky stuff between his fingers. It would wind most sweetly around Colton’s white neck. Blonds did look good in red, and besides, blood red held a secret knowledge for both of them. Down in his study, he tucked the slippery ribbon into an envelope with Colton’s name and address printed on the front. For a few minutes he considered multiple options for delivery, but in the end settled on foregoing any cheap props as the ribbon was enough all by itself. Colton would know and understand. Instead of counting on the whims of the postal service, he’d deliver it himself, unseen. Then he’d see what would happen and watch how long it took.

Chapter Four

It took three days. Three long, agonizing days, and then another for his house-watching to pay off. Seizing the first opportunity when Colton’s car was not parked in the drive, Killian made quick use of his access to the mailbox. Shifters had a sixth-sense and knew when wolves were around. Killian admired the man’s house greatly and wondered what it looked like inside—a challenge for another time. This time it was not a phone call or a visit on his doorstep, it was a sealed envelope in his mailbox. Little bastard was playing along with the game. Killian knew immediately who it was from, no doubts. There was only one thing inside it, a fresh cutting from a willow tree with a few astringent smelling leaves clinging. Clever. At 11:30 p.m. precisely, Killian was in his car and speeding again. This night was not as pleasant as the last, sort of rainy and humid, but thankfully, also with enough cloud cover, he wasn’t forced to gaze upon the encroaching fullness of La Bella Luna. This was hard enough as it was without that. Rain was good, though, got rid of all the nosy humans. If one of them got violently out of hand this time, or both of them, there’d be no witnesses, and if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he couldn’t say. Colton was in the exact spot as last time. It was much darker than last time too, and Killian could barely see his face. The wind rustled dried-out leaves. It was kind of a creepy night. His favorite. He was a werewolf, after all. Colton smelled delicious. Killian was frustrated and…more frustrated. When he entered under the canopy, he didn’t stop in contemplation; he kept right on going until he collided with the table top and insinuated himself between Colton’s spread legs as they dangled over the edge. Pretty shifter boy barely had time to gasp in shock before Killian’s hand was around his neck and his mouth applied with crushing force. No more flirting! Colton tasted like pine needles smelled, and honeysuckle and night-blooming flowers. Twining his fingers in the soft hair at his nape, Killian pulled him in closer, kissed him deeper, opened his lips and inserted his tongue in his mouth with just a hint of force. Colton couldn’t pull away. Killian wasn’t sure he tried. The shifter’s body shook but then…ah, wonders! He kissed him back. When he put his mind to it, Colton sure could kiss. If he wasn’t enjoying the taste of Killian’s mouth he hid it well, or perhaps he forgot everything about burning matches, brimstone and ancient enemies? Killian couldn’t have cared less. The kiss was hot, full of carnal knowledge, and do-gooder shifter boy was embracing sin wholeheartedly. It was about time! When he finally surrendered, he surrendered good…or maybe not? When Colton slid his tongue into his mouth, it was pure pleasure, but only for a few seconds. Not-so-innocent shifter boy had to stop and take a deep breath. Small matter; he’d accomplished a needful thing. Killian could give him a break and, since it wouldn’t ruin his plans, he gave one hard tug on that golden hair in his hand and let him go. “Here to plead your case again, my pretty one?” Colton could make a wide array of animalistic sounds. A carry-over from his shifted shapes? This one sounded like a mad cat. “I have a name.” “And an interesting one too. Makes you sound so harmless.” The cat snarled. “I will call you what pleases me.” Killian let him simmer silently for a second. “So have you made up your mind? Or did you miss me?” “I’ve made up my mind.” “And?” “I’ll try.” Killian snorted with derision. “Try? There is no try. You will or you won’t. All night in my bed is the price and I mean to collect on it. Yes or no?” Giving in was such sweet sorrow, or something like that, anyway. Killian waited. “Yes.” As much as he wanted to, Killian didn’t break into a victory dance under the tree. “When? I should warn you that I’m very impatient. I might change my mind. You know how hot-headed and temperamental us werewolves are.” Colton knew the truth of it, all right. “Saturday.” That gave him pause. “The night of a full moon? You surely are a crazy one.” Killian thought it over for a split second and then laughed. “Don’t think you can provoke me. Full moon or not, I’m gonna spend the entire night doing everything to you I want. Nice try.” It was too dark to be sure, but Colton may have shrugged in defeat. “What time does night officially start?” Damned Blondie, trying desperately to mete out his submission by the hour. He’d fix that too. “Be at my house at eight o’clock.” “Fine.” More defiance in that tone. “Do not be late. It really pisses me off, and I’d hate to start the night out having to punish you.” “I won’t be late. I can tell time.” “Don’t bring that smart mouth with you, either. You’ll regret it. And be hungry, I’ll feed you dinner.” Colton made an indeterminate sound. “Sounds like a date.” “It is.” “Anything else?” “Sleep Friday night. Don’t come to me all tired with a shitty disposition. I don’t like that, either. Besides, you’ll need all the energy you can get.” “Maybe I should make a list?” Ooh, Smartass was so going down! “See you Saturday, Blondie.” “Peace werewolf,” Smartass said, using the ritual parting words. “Peace shifter.” This time Colton left first, making Killian wonder if he was worried about getting another kick in the ass. And well he should.

Chapter Five

Those two days of waiting were the fucking longest pair Killian had ever endured. Endless! And they were made all the nastier because he spent most of them walking around with a perpetual hard-on, his head thrumming from lack of reliable blood flow. Nevertheless, he used the time productively. He bought a new headboard, a massive one full of iron bars and spiky ornamentation looking suspiciously intended for torture. It was positively medieval, a work of art found at an ironsmith’s shop. It seemed to have been made just for him and called to him from the front display window. Killian wanted to meet whatever kind of man thought up such a thing, but he wasn’t in. Must have werewolf blood. Passing the time, he groomed himself, trimming hair everywhere. Like a girl, he preened, offending himself. Because his cooking sucked, he catered dinner, not that he expected Blondie to eat. He’d be defiant, Killian just knew it. Since he was still angry at Colton’s smart mouth, he wanted to be polishing and oiling his leather whip, but didn’t. In his agitated state it took quite some time to realize that Blondie had been lippy because he was scared. It was one of those eureka! moments. And then he was mad at himself for taking so long to see it—it was surely from the lack of blood to the brain. It was odd having the tables turned thusly. Imagine, a prime shifter being afraid of him. Killian liked it. Fear was a great aphrodisiac. Colton could, in fact, tell time, evading any punishment by arriving at exactly eight in his fancy yellow sports car, which got hidden in Killian’s garage. Even Killian knew the two of them couldn’t get caught at this. Neither of their kind could ever comprehend it, let alone tolerate it. It must be their little secret. You’d never guess we stand on opposite sides of the line dividing light and dark, he thought, the both of them having chosen to wear a similar-styled suit, same dark grey color. Seemed natural to him. It was a date and demanded a little effort. His felt tight—the moon was waxing brilliant and beautiful and Colton looked so utterly spectacular he would have liked to rip off all those expensive threads and ravish him on the spot. “Want a drink before dinner?” he asked casually. “No, thank you.” Killian knew he wouldn’t touch a drop—shifters seldom did, and Colton especially wouldn’t want to lose an inch of control. Oh yes, he’d never been more right about anyone—Colton needed, absolutely needed, to let it all go. It would take a patient hand to get him there. Blondie barely ate, never mind it was delicious. He was nervous. For a man raised on pain and suffering and knowing the horrors of battle—he truly was a soldier of the light, curse him— he was mightily afraid. Did Colton wonder exactly what Killian planned on doing to him? Because Killian was mean and nasty, he didn’t plan on enlightening him any. He’d find out. There was little small talk, despite his efforts. It was hard for Colton sitting there across from him, bearing his scrutiny and trying to pretend he was handling everything okay. Unbelievable as it was, there was clearly something going on between them, and Colton was fighting it to the bitter end. For some peculiar reason, shifters seemed fond of bracelets. Colton was wearing one tonight, a nice thing of silver and gold links with diamonds in the middle of each, and it kept catching Killian’s eye. “Why do you all wear those things? Bracelets?” he finally asked. With a glance at his wrist, Colton answered, “Oh. Extra matter.” “Pardon me?” “Extra matter for the shift. I’m not very big.” “That’s ridiculous. You’re huge.” “Not really, you know, for a shape-shifter. Big enough, but I only have so much matter within me. The magic of the shift seems to like diamonds. If I take it into me when I shift, I can become

something bigger than the mass of my body alone could produce without having to steal from objects around me.” Oh shit. That statement really hit home. Colton was bloody dangerous. But so was he. “Not something you’ll have to worry about tonight. Give it to me.” Startled, Colton’s eyes popped open. His brows knitted together for a second with a dash of that defiance, but then he unclasped it from his wrist and passed it across the table. It was warm from body heat—made his skin tingle. A prize. He tucked it in his pocket. “You’re not going to eat, are you?” “I’m not very hungry.” “You’re too thin.” The corner of Colton’s mouth twitched. It was the closest thing to a smile Killian had seen on him. “Sorry. Does that mean I don’t appeal to you?” He didn’t want to, but Killian had to smile. “You’re far more beautiful than a man has the right to be. No worries on that account.” “Darn.” “Hmm,” he mumbled. If Blondie wasn’t going to eat, then he might as well take him upstairs where other appetites could be satisfied. “Did you bring my gift with you?” Blondie embarrassed so easily. The flush was very faint and disappeared quickly, but he’d seen it paint Colton’s high cheekbones. “Yes.” “Show me.” Nervous fingers withdrew the red ribbon from his jacket pocket. Killian had been right—Colton did look good in red. He held out his hand. When Colton set the folded red silk into his palm, it well and truly sealed their bargain. Not their earlier spoken agreement in the willows—that was nothing. This was everything. With a deft flick, Killian unraveled it and let it dangle in his hand, admiring how it flowed almost like liquid. Colton’s eyes followed it with rapt attention. It was so very, very good. Rising slowly and dangling the ribbon, he walked around behind Colton’s chair. “Take off your tie and unbutton your shirt.” Blondie did, setting his tie on his napkin. Large, dexterous fingers unbuttoned three top buttons, enough for Killian to slide his fingers inside and part the fine white material. His touch gave Blondie a shiver, a nice visible one. When he hooked a red loop around Colton’s neck, the shiver became a tremor. Bargain made, he tied the loop at the back into a firm knot. It wasn’t any tighter than the tie and had almost no weight and no substance, yet Killian knew how tight and heavy it felt to Colton. The rest of the ribbon draped itself over the white shirt, a thread of vibrant ink. It was a leash, and Colton knew it. Killian wound it around his finger. He hated to give it up, but Colton didn’t need a leash. For his own pleasure, he gave it a single tiny tug anyway. Using a clean steak knife, Killian cut it, leaving the edge to unravel until it met the knot. In case he needed it later, he put the remnant in his pocket with the bracelet. “Come with me.” A gentleman, Killian pulled out his chair for him. Killian led and Colton followed. They went slowly; pretty shifter boy needed it. Killian’s bedroom was upstairs at the end of the hall, the door closed. Moonlight was beginning to seep in the windows, far from full power, for it was still early, but to a werewolf it was already enough. Moonlight fed his blood. Werewolves didn’t need a full moon to transform, of course. They could do it anytime; just moonlight, and especially that of a full moon, seemed to make it all so much easier, more primeval. At the closed door, Killian stopped. “A few rules before you enter,” he said, his eyes locking on that red ribbon shining in the light. Colton nodded. “Firstly, this is a room of truth. Once you enter it, there will be no lies and no evasions. I will never lie to you inside this room and you will never lie to me. Truth rules everything in here. You understand?” Again, Colton nodded. Not good enough. “Pardon me?” “Yes, I understand.” “Secondly, when you cross this threshold, you are no longer Colton Décarie. Your last name is lost to you, along with all your family ties. They will no longer matter. Inside here you are no longer a shifter.” He pointed at the door. “Shifting is forbidden. You give up that power once you enter. It becomes lost to you.” Colton made a small sound that might have been disagreement. “You are not my enemy inside this room, and I am not yours. Remember the ritual and obey the pact, ‘peace werewolf, peace shifter’.” Softly, Colton repeated the words. “When you come into my bedroom and I close the door, you leave everything behind except yourself. You are only Colton in this room, nobody else, nobody’s son, nobody’s brother, nobody’s ally and nobody’s hunter. You are only Colton. Do you understand this?” “Yes,” Colton agreed, words spoken softly as a sigh. “Pardon me?” “Yes, Killian.” “And lastly, and most importantly, and make sure you understand this completely before you come in…” Killian paused and looked directly into Colton’s eyes. “Inside my bedroom, you are only Colton…” he smiled wickedly, “…and Colton is mine.” And Colton looked distressed. “Do you understand this? That you are mine?” Colton’s swallow was audible. “Yes, Killian.” Killian opened the door. And the shifter followed him inside. With Colton watching, he firmly shut the door.

Chapter Six

There was only a single lamp glowing. Killian wanted more light and the soft yellow glow of candlelight to set off Colton’s prettiness. To have aught else would be like drinking good champagne out of a kid’s plastic cup. During his agonizing two days of waiting, he stocked up and filled the room. Killian lit several, some scented mildly with unobtrusive vanilla and most unscented. It wasn’t just the light he wanted, it was the smell of burning. Killian wasn’t a monster—he wanted to make it easier for the man. Melting wax pooling was much nicer than the taste of burnt matches in your mouth. When he was done, he extinguished the lamp. Turning to tell Colton to take off his shoes, Killian found him staring at the bed and the wicked-looking headboard, all black, cold and cruel. It just about killed him to see. Such innocence. “I’m not going to impale you on it,” he offered. Colton clearly didn’t believe him. “I promised I’d never lie to you in here. Now come over here.” It was not to the bed he led him, it was to the front of the unlit fireplace. It was far too hot for gas flames. Candles sparkled on the mantle instead. A thick white hide covered the floor and, while it might be considered cliché, it had a very important use: knee padding. Before he got to that, though, he needed to do one thing more. Leaving Blondie on the fur, he retrieved his hairbrush from the bathroom. His fingers were going to be in that pretty hair lots tonight and he didn’t want knots. Colton’s eyes opened wide in alarm at the sight of it, giving Killian a good chuckle. “I had no plans to whack you with this…” he wagged it and its metal bristles, “…but if you really crave it, I suppose I could find it within myself to beat you until you resemble a pin cushion.” A prompt headshake answered him. Had someone b een disciplined with a b rush at home? After that interesting bit of info, he’d keep it handy. He’d never spanked anyone with hairbrush before, a thought to dwell on another time. It was fascinating brushing Colton’s hair, so golden and full of highlights it seemed alive. Blondie endured it with patient grace. Once Colton’s hair was knot-free and shining, Killian set the brush on the mantle, backed off the fur and waited until he had Colton’s full attention. “I am going to ask you a question now and you will answer me. You will answer me truthfully and immediately.” A flicker of panic flashed in Blondie’s eyes. “Yes, Killian.” “Why did you choose me to ask?” The shifter did not want to answer, but the rules had been fully explained to him. “I knew…I knew I could trust you.” “You knew you could trust me…what?” “To do it right. I—I don’t want to suffer.” “I see. You don’t think I’d make you suffer? That I wouldn’t want to take my sweet time and bite you over and over and rip you apart until all your blood was mine?” Pretty shifter grimaced. “I hoped that by giving you revenge you would be merciful. Drayton didn’t make your brother suffer as much as he deserved it. He was quick, and I…well, I hope you won’t make me suffer in return.” “Interesting,” he said. “Thank you, Colton. We’ll discuss this further another time.” At least Blondie had that much trust for him. It might work to his advantage, and he was going to start taking it. Looking like a gift from a benevolent god, Colton was waiting on the rug, eyes wide and full of trepidation. Killian liked it very much, that fear. The moon was rising. He was hungry. He was ready for his payment. Why wait? “Take off your clothes.” Defiance reared its head yet again, only for a second, and most of it was likely surprise at Killian’s abrupt and purposefully harsh words. Colton swallowed hard and slid out of his suit jacket. “Put them there.” He gestured to a wing chair. Shoes were followed by socks. Colton hadn’t yet bared anything and Killian was already so hard with arousal that his loose suit pants were too tight. The red ribbon flashed as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, revealing those nice hard muscles Killian’s hand had only ever known. Colton’s shirt came with cufflinks and he dropped them onto the chair one at a time, little bombs exploding in Killian’s head. Starched and ironed, his shirt snapped and crackled as it landed on the chair. Thin he might be, but Colton was all muscle and his arms were like corded wire. Killian’s mouth watered. Pale golden skin sucked up the candlelight and glowed. When he had only his trousers left, he hesitated. Surely it wasn’t modesty or embarrassment? Shifters were always being caught naked by others because it wasn’t like your clothes shifted with you—they vanished

into the shift glow, instant matter conversion. “I’m waiting, Colton.” There it was again, the blushing. How the hell was he supposed to go slow with someone like that? The darker arrow of hair that began at Colton’s bellybutton was where his eyes went, and stayed there as the zipper opened wider, tantalizing him with the prospect of a better view. But Colton cheated him and slid everything off at once, fast, then took his time adding his last bits of refuge to the pile. Then he was naked. That’s when Killian almost bit his tongue. Colton blushed furiously while he stared. His examination was thorough. Naked, he was even lovelier, young and healthy and well-favored everywhere, his body made for pleasure, made for his pleasure. Despite his having to endure what was obviously humiliating, and probably burning as well, Colton was semi-hard and didn’t want to be. His arms vibrated with the denied urge to cover himself. Not wanting to grin wickedly, Killian put all that was left of his shattered concentration into schooling his face into fake disinterest, a mask that couldn’t hide his excitement elsewhere. Or hide his quickening pulse. “Very nice, Colton,” he purred seductively. “I am very much going to enjoy you.” The object of his admiration made a tiny little sound, so soft he couldn’t tell if it was a defiant word or not and therefore couldn’t punish him without further investigation. “What did you say, Colton?” “Nothing.” Killian looked at him with disapproval. “I didn’t say anything, Killian.” “What were you thinking, then?” Silence. “I asked you a question, Blondie.” Unblinking eyes met his. “I was…wondering if it would hurt.” Too sweet, a shifter wondering if something would hurt! “That depends solely on you, my pretty one.” Truly, Colton did not understand. His expression was unguarded at the moment, hiding nothing. Ideas were formulated and discarded in favor of others. He was thinking it all wrong, wondering if Killian would hurt him purposely if he didn’t perform right. Virgins! Killian did have some pity in him after all, and he had promised to be honest. Mind you, he hadn’t promised to volunteer anything. “If you fight me, it will hurt.” Colton’s feet seemed suddenly interesting. “If you tense up and clench your muscles and don’t relax when I enter you, then it will be painful. If you relax and accept me, then you will like it. Does that answer your question?” “Yes, Killian.” “Look at me when you are speaking to me,” he said harshly. Proud but obedient, Colton did. The unguarded look remained, suggesting he didn’t think it was possible for him to physically accept Killian and all but impossible to enjoy it. It renewed Killian’s determination. Now he was going to make him beg twice as long before he gave it to him. Enough! His fingers were on Colton’s neck like a shot, rubbing the red ribbon possessively. Colton flinched at the sudden movement, but it was only reflex. He was a fine animal, after all, a prize stallion. Killian carried on his examination with his fingers. They caressed chest and shoulders, ran down powerful arms and tested the texture of sparse, golden body hair. Killian had never seen such a hairless man before. Blonds. He thumbed a nipple, rubbing it into a hard nub. Colton gasped and his cock twitched. It was the beginning of pleasure. But Killian would have his first. Colton was his, he was master, and Colton’s cock could twitch all it wanted, it wasn’t going to get any attention just yet. “Unbutton my shirt,” he ordered. “Take off my tie.” Awkwardly, Colton did. God, the guy hadn’t even undressed a man before. And Colton’s surprised gasp when he noted Killian’s double piercing was delightful. Both nipples, and it was a pain to keep up with too—every time he shifted to full wolf the holes healed completely and needed to be redone. Still, the pleasure of those tiny gold loops tugged on by subservient teeth was worth it. “Touch me, Colton. Get used to me, my body. You can go slowly. Take your time.” Pretty boy wasn’t expecting this. He was very timid and tentative, scared to death, yet every single touch was truth—honest and hot and burning and good. It wasn’t easy, but Killian endured the slow pace for as long as he could. The exploration taxed his impatient werewolf nerves mightily as hesitant fingertips learned the texture of his skin. “Touch me the way you would want me to touch you.” This should be interesting. “Show me.” Colton had big fingers, and when he used them on one shiny ring, all curious, Killian had to suppress a groan. “Use your tongue now.” Shy, Colton took a moment to warm up to his work. Would Killian’s skin taste like burnt matches too? If so, Colton had better get used to it. His tongue would be very busy soon. Head bent, he started with kisses, light and airy ones on his collarbones, ones that made Killian grit his teeth in anticipation of more. When they traveled up along his neck getting closer to his mouth, Killian caught the man’s chin with his hand. “No kisses for you, Colton,” he said. “You must earn them. Be a good boy and please me, and I will reward you with kisses.” Surprised by the denial, Colton licked his lips and bent his head again, pressing mouth to breastbone. So hot! Finally his hands grew bolder, roving over chest and through much thicker chest hair than his own, traveling down Killian’s sides, learning every muscle, every angle. Colton’s mouth, his tongue, finally followed suit. When the hot, wet tip flicked nipple and ring, Killian jerked, quite involuntarily, halting his progress. “More!” Emboldened, Colton did more. He licked. He kissed. His blond head shone in the candlelight. It was becoming unbearable. Killian wanted more and, wanting, fondled the red knot at the back of Blondie’s head. “Lick me lower,” he ordered. The hesitation was slight, so he let it slide. If Colton’s tongue hadn’t been so goddamn hot it might have tickled, but instead it left a scorch mark all the way down. Waiting for further orders, Colton paused at his crouch, mouth wet on his belly. Killian was very much looking forward to what would happen next. “Get down on your knees.” Gracefully, he lowered himself, a touch of defiance in the slowness, still battling against his will. The red ribbon was brushed in warning, and Colton settled on his wobbly knees. Killian looked down at that shiny head. It was all good. “Unzip me.” Shaky hands obeyed. Clasps were undone and the sound of the quiet zipper slowly going down was the sweetest music he’d ever heard. A large man in height and width, the rest of Killian was big also, the ripe purple tip of his engorged penis already escaping out of the top of his silken underwear. Colton made a sound that could have been distress or could have been surprise, and Killian didn’t care either way. “Take me out now.” Hot, trembling hands complied, forcing his stiff-as-a-board erection out over the constricting band of his boxers. Colton was breathing very hard now, his shoulders moving with each breath. “Open your mouth.” Eyes half-closed, Colton parted his wet, red lips, not wide enough, but a good start. “Closer,” he demanded. “Lick it.” The first touch of wet, slick tongue to hot, hard flesh was like the transference of electricity—he shuddered and Colton jerked. Killian grabbed his fingers, urging them to take a better grip and pull down harder, leveling his erection with lush lips. “Give me more tongue. Lick it good, Colton.” Ah God, he did. “Lick it how you like to be tasted. Every man likes this.” Evidently Colton did like it. He perfectly swirled the tight purplish tip with a hot wet swipe and tongued the fissure at the end. It was oh, so not what he wanted to give up, but Killian moaned, unable to keep it in. Tongue still on the tip, hand still wrapped around the shaft, Colton looked up at him from his knees and met his jaded eyes with innocent hazel ones—a question. “Yes, I like it.” Colton lowered his eyes and took up a more detailed exploration with his tongue. The nature of sin is such that every man has the seed of it within himself, and Killian wanted Blondie’s seed to blossom, wanted it to bloom. “Lick it all over, pretty one. Lick it hard.” When Colton got to obeying, he applied himself well. Killian’s pulse raced; his blood hummed. Intense pleasure flooded his senses, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Oh how he wanted to thrust! “Take me in your mouth now. I want you to suck it.” Hips straining forward, he slid himself along that wet, outstretched tongue and aimed it at the opening mouth, longing for penetration. He was big—Colton couldn’t take much, but he took it with a touch of eagerness, gave it one long, hard suck and then—spit it back out. A burst of frustrated fury flared inside Killian’s head. Outright defiance would be severely punished! His hand snatched out to grab a handful of hair, but whoosh—the head was gone. He looked down, searching for it. Colton was having a fit of some sort. Head bowed, he was making a low wailing sound only agonizing pain could create and his shoulders were shaking like he had palsy. Utterly astounded, Killian could only stare at the sight without comprehension. It lasted only seconds, the fit, before the awful sound Colton was making abated and turned to ragged, painful, unsettling whimpering. Not even his hardest flick of the whip could produce that kind of sound. It stopped. The room went quiet. The wide shoulders relaxed. One long, deep, audible breath was sucked in and the shaking ended with one long exhalation out. Colton looked up with at him with naked despair and…shame? “I’m sorry, Killian,” he apologized, clearly meaning it, his breath hitching in his throat. “What the hell was that?” Killian couldn’t sustain the fury. He was far too confounded. “I couldn’t help it,” he pleaded. “I tried! I tried, but it came so fast I couldn’t stop it.” “Explain yourself.” Now Colton looked absurdly guilty. “When I took you in my mouth, it was too much—I could taste you, every part of you. My tongue—my tongue came alive with all your cells touching it and I…I tasted the essence of your DNA. It unraveled on my tongue and I learned your body’s blueprint.” His eyes suggested he didn’t like it. “I didn’t want to do it, I just couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t in control of myself.” Killian finally understood, but it was the last point, the salient one he savored. I wasn’t in control of myself. Very fucking good. “I see,” he said at last. “But I’m not happy with you. You should have known this would happen. You should’ve done it sooner, before you came in this room.” Shifters learned new shapes to shift into by sampling the subject’s DNA, taking it into their body and assimilating it, learning it and reading the blueprint for creating that new thing. Colton had just read him, and thus having read him, could b ecome him. It was a horrifying thought, but in the end all it would’ve taken was one strand of hair or one skin cell—he’d given him a whole mouthful, and likely even a sperm cell or two. Couldn’t get a better blueprint than that. “Did it hurt?” The whimpering answer was truthful. “Yes.” “Did it burn?” “All the way to the white.” “The white?” “The hottest burn of all. Lava and acid mixed together.” “Are you done now?” “Yes.” “You will never, and I mean never, take on my shape. Ever!” The blond brows wrinkled with shock, which turned to horror and distaste. “Of course not. It’s forbidden. I would never!” Colton wouldn’t. It was at the top of the list of the forbidden, second only to not revealing themselves to the humans. And Colton was a naïve do-gooder. He was a Décarie. To shift into one’s worst enemy? Become a werewolf? He’d surely die first. “Fine. I would punish you for making me wait, except I know you couldn’t help yourself.” Contrite, Colton nodded.

“But you should have known better, read me earlier, got it out of the way and with my permission. Taken it with a kiss. For not doing that, I’ll have to punish you.” Colton blinked once and lowered his head. “Yes, Killian.” The submission was very sweet. What would be a worthwhile punishment? Killian had not expected to have to punish him and certainly not for something borne in his blood. The brush was still on the mantle, and he glanced at it with a snort. It would draw blood. Inflicting pain on the shifter was worthless. How could he compete with lava and acid mixed together? A venomous bite would be the only thing, and he’d die for it. Mentally, he catalogued his favorite drawer, the things that whipped, slapped, bit, pinched, cut—nothing. Didn’t he already know that? But there was… atonement. Fine. Giving himself to the enemy was far more painful to Colton than anything else, so Killian would work it. Take it all. He was still hard, not raging, but it would take only one lick to get back there. “I want to whip you for this, Colton.” Perhaps…mayb e? He looked kinda scared at the prospect. The pretty blond head lowered farther, shoulders hunching. “I’ve a mind to introduce you to my new headboard there—I’m rather fond of those spiky points.” Unwilling, Colton’s eyes drifted to the bed. “I should tie you to it and beat you until my arm gets tired. I’m very good at it, wielding the whip. Must live in the blood. I could welt up your nice white back with perfect precision and enjoy each stroke as I laid it out in a chevron pattern. That’s the best way, you know, left to right and back again. If you crisscross the stripes just slightly…” He closed his eyes and used his imagination. “If you lay them down just so…it hurts everywhere, all at once.” When he reopened his eyes, Colton was watching him. Killian read a lot in those eyes—pretty blond shifter knew it would hurt, sure he did, but it meant little to him. “If I did that, you wouldn’t like it, would you?” Hands were folded together now. “No, Killian.” “But it wouldn’t go to the white, would it?” Truth could be submission also, he discovered. “No. Just a tiny lick of red.” Jesus! Bloody shifters. Just a tiny lick of red? “So as much as I would like it, and I would like it, Colton, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment, would it?” “No, Killian.” “That being the case, then, you shall instead do…penance.” A flicker of interest flashed for a second in the hazel eyes. “I think I’ll have to sit for this,” he began, taking his shirt off completely and tossing it to the floor. Passing Colton on his thick white fur, he settled himself on the loveseat in front of the fireplace. No more than five feet separated them, but it would do. “Come to me.” Colton pulled his leg underneath him to stand. “No. Crawl. Slowly. So I can watch.” Blondie didn’t like it one bit. Being forced into crawling hurt considerably more than a tiny lick of red. Perfect. It put things back on the right track. “You’ve been very bad, and I’m not happy with you. Crawl to me.” Anger flared, but he crawled. Only thing was it looked rather too much like a panther approaching. Did Colton know that one? Had he a great cat in his personal catalogue? Of course he did. Probably all four. “I would make you lick my boots, but I don’t want you to get your tongue all dry and dirty.” Killian always wore boots when having sex of this kind, such a better effect than soft dress shoes. Colton plainly hated the notion, and Killian kept it in mind for the next transgression. “You will finish giving me head now. And I’m not gonna come for a very long time. Your arms will tire. Your hands will cramp. Your mouth will get dry and your tongue will not be used to all that hard work. It will get sore. You will make it the best blow-job I’ve ever had in my life, my pretty one. Come here and open your mouth.” One hard suck put him right back where he was before Colton had his slip-up and went to the white hot lava. He had a powerful mouth, good suction. After the first few minutes of intense pleasure, Killian reached back and lowered his trousers farther so he could give Colton more. “Slide your head up and down.” Colton obliged. It would be a battle of willpower—could he hold out long enough to make Colton tire, or would the pretty one with his hot mouth bring him to orgasm faster than he hoped? Penance was the thing; Colton was working very hard, taking more and more, deeper and deeper into his mouth. “Harder,” he breathed, “stroke me harder with your hand.” Clenching his hand made for an incredibly tight glove, and Killian groaned again. “That’s good.” He shouldn’t encourage him. Should make him work for it. Colton was getting close to liking it too, he knew, could tell by the sound. All his shifter horror and all his fear had dissipated, but since Killian couldn’t see between the shifter’s legs, he settled on watching his head go up and down most enticingly. “Faster,” he demanded. “That’s it, yes. Suck your cheeks in just a bit more. Suck harder!” A bolt of pleasure pulled his hips off the seat and thrust him deeper into the panting mouth, making Colton choke and back off. Sucking in a ragged breath, Colton bent his head again, slowly opening swollen lips, tongue darting out to lick. “That’s good.” Nerves of steel and willpower to match could not hold him off forever. Pressure was building, not just in his balls, but everywhere, pulling his abdominal muscles in tightly and making his ears hum. God, Blondie could suck! Colton was, however, tiring, which meant Killian won. “Tighter! Squeeze me just a little tighter. And faster…yes!” Soon…it would be soon. The shiny blond head flew. His hips thrust up and Colton took him deep, beyond mouth into throat. “Good! I like fucking your sweet mouth, Blondie. Don’t stop now.” The pressure was about to erupt, and explosively, a volcano, and he gripped a handful of hair and hung on. Scalding hot and endlessly, he climaxed into Colton’s mouth, his tight grip holding that proud head still so he had to swallow it all. He wanted to watch, goddamn it, he wanted to watch Colton’s face as he emptied himself, but he just couldn’t open his eyes. Colton was making gagging noises. Flexing his fingers released the hank of hair and the pinned head. For a second when Killian opened his eyes, he saw only whiteness, but color returned like a flickering kaleidoscope. Happy, he gave out a crooked smile. Blondie’s lips sucked together, but a bit of ejaculate ran down his chin. “Swallow,” Killian commanded. Tilting his chin, Colton obeyed. Panting, lips blood red and face flushed, Colton made for a very alluring sight. If the angels were no longer singing, the devils sure as hell were. Sitting up was hard, next to impossible, but Killian had to wipe off that little bit of escaping fluid. He used his forefinger and then stuck that finger into Colton’s mouth. “Suck it off.” Colton did and, just to see what would happen, Killian slid his finger in and out a few times—he sucked it eagerly. Made him want to come some more. “Good boy. Come here. I think you deserve a kiss.” It was just natural grace, not anything otherworldly, but Colton slid his body up between Killian’s legs like a great snake and hesitated inches from his mouth. Was he waiting for permission or were his lips sore? They were very plump, ripe and delicious. Killian’s hand found the knot of that red ribbon and pulled his head in close for the promised kiss. This time he got no hesitation. As soon as their mouths touched, fire erupted from the volcano and they kissed hungrily, Colton giving as good as he got, his tongue working as expertly as it had on the head of his cock. Finally he gave it all up. When Killian was done, he inserted a finger under the crimson loop and pulled his head back. “More later—if you’re a good boy.” “Yes, Killian,” he said, half-compliantly and half-longingly. “The bathroom’s through there.” He nodded to a closed door. “Go wash your face.” Another crooked smile and Killian added, “And I bet you need a drink of water.” Colton gave him a shy smile. “Yes, Killian,” he agreed with a touch of humor. Cat-like he leapt off the floor and went to the bathroom. Killian watched that beautiful body from the back. Colton had a nice ass, all hard, tight muscle sprinkled with downy soft gold hair. He was going to enjoy fucking that ass, oh yes he was. After Colton begged for it, that was.

Chapter Seven

While Colton washed and re-supplied his depleted saliva, Killian rose to his feet, somewhat unsteadily too, and zipped up his pants. After that amazing suck-job, he’d need a few minutes before he was ready to move on to violating Colton’s body. The edge was off his hunger now. He could go slowly, would have the patience to rouse Colton’s body to the point he cried out to be taken. Begging was the best. Decadence was having a bar fridge in one’s bedroom. Killian kept champagne in it, but he didn’t want alcohol. He wanted a clear mind and fully operational senses. Ginger ale made a poor substitute, and its fizz burned all the way down and threatened to come back out his nose. Disgusting stuff! Still waiting for Colton, he pulled aside a curtain panel and let the moon make love to him for a moment. A moonbeam struck his chest like a dart. “You lied.” Colton was watching him from the bathroom door. “How so?” “You said in here I was no longer a shifter and you were no longer a dark hunter.” “And it’s still true.” “You’re worshipping your Bella Luna.” “Only hunters worship her, pretty one, and I don’t hunt.” Guilty, he shut the drape and, for good measure, stuffed it up against the sill, banishing all stray moonbeams. “Better?” Colton nodded. “I’ll share my soda. Want some?” “No, thank you. I had some water.” “I have champagne.” “Um, no thank you.” “You’re such a do-gooder, Colton. Come here, then, and get acquainted with my bed.” While he wasn’t exactly eager, Colton came in all his naked glory. The covers had been pulled back halfway and it was warm, not precisely encouraging climbing under blankets. Colton stopped at the edge and fingered the coverlet. Damn, but he was a pretty sight, so shy and so…his. “I’m not going to rape you. You don’t need to be afraid.” Seeing Colton there on his bed, naked and beautiful in the flickering candlelight, made something in his chest do a fluttery little dance. Ginger ale was supposed to settle stomachs; he took a big gulp and went to visit his closet and drawer number two. The black cord of bondage was waiting. Tonight, it would have a new use.

It startled Colton, the appearance of that item in his hands. Maybe later…yes…later. With the rope dangling, Killian climbed up beside him on his big bed. Already his cock was stirring, anticipation building, arousal beginning. The full moon had done it, fed him up until he was full again. “You like?” he asked. Wanting to lie and doing it were not the same, and Colton knew the rules. “I’m afraid of it,” he answered in a sideways response. Killian wrapped a portion around each fist and snapped the line. Colton didn’t flinch, but he hadn’t lied; he was afraid of being bound. “I won’t be tying you to my bed. I can easily see it wrapped around those wrists of yours and you pulling on it, making it tight. But not right now.” The rope was for the headboard. It had many handholds, but they were sharp and nasty and if Colton needed something to hang on to, the softly woven cord wouldn’t make him bleed. A quick hook and tug from a middle bar left it hanging down, the ends lapping the pillows. “Something to hold on to if you need it.” “Oh.” “I’m not going to be gentle with you,” he said. Colton masterfully covered up his shock. “I will be gentle at first, until you accept me, get used to my possession. But then I’m gonna fuck you real hard.” Ah—the whimper of distress. Colton’s whimpers were getting better and better as the night went on. “Come here and touch it. Feel how soft it is.” Naked and vulnerable, Colton slid closer to the black cord and, not coincidentally, closer to him. Deftly, the shifter slid the rope through his palm like a fisherman. Such powerful hands. “Nice?” “Yes, Killian.” “Now you can finish undressing me.” A new whimper came out of those still-swollen pink lips and it said, Oh God. Enjoying it, Killian thrust a booted foot at his knees and he unzipped, tugged, slipped off and removed all of his clothing. His nipple rings were his only adornment, them and his full erection. Having taken a great portion of it in his mouth, Colton knew just how big it was and he looked upon it with dread. “It will fit. Trust me.” Colton said something like, “Erk.” “I said it would fit. But it will be a tight fit.” He chuckled. He really could be a cruel bastard. “Killian,” he breathed, obviously hoping for a reprieve he wouldn’t get. “Begging already?” “No, Killian.” “Hush, then, and come here. I want you. I’m gonna kiss you senseless.” They met in the middle and Killian was on him instantly, his mouth tasting, his hands roving, his body dominating. Bigger and stronger in human form, he covered Colton completely, taking full possession of his prize. Their hipbones rubbed together. Killian rubbed his erection against Colton’s belly and stimulated the man’s cock into a solid rod he liked very much, and he was almost sorry Colton would only be getting tonight, not giving. The only way Colton was getting a climax tonight was with Killian’s cock fully buried inside him. Then he could come all he wanted. If he didn’t kiss Colton senseless, he certainly kissed him breathless. And kissing Colton breathless somewhat worked on himself, too. Killian was panting. A fine sweat prickled his chest where their bodies had been pressed tight together. The lesser thatch on Colton’s chest was damp and matted. His nipples were hard nubs and his lips so plump they looked ready to burst. If Killian wasn’t careful with himself, he’d end up rushing and ruining everything. You only got one opportunity to take someone’s virginity, and if he rushed, Colton wouldn’t beg, and begging was the best of all things. Patience. He must be patient. A little small talk would be good. “I like it when you kiss me like that. When you apply yourself, you make a good job of it.” It wasn’t that pretty pink blush, but his shy one was embarrassed. “I like it when you kiss me too,” Colton confessed. Freely confessed. Ah. “Do I smell better now?” “Yes.” “Oh? No more burning matches?” He shook his head. “Wood smoke—maybe.” “I guess that’s an improvement. Must be, for you to like my kisses. And when I came in your mouth? Did you like the taste of that?” A trick question—how truthful would the man be? Two red spots bloomed on the cheeks, a horrified version of blushing. Killian grinned and raised one brow. “No, I didn’t like it. Very bitter and…” “And?” “Tasted like werewolf.” Fully and deeply, Killian laughed his head off. “That’s very good. At least you didn’t say chicken. I’d have been hurt.” It was so funny to hear it from Colton’s mouth, spoken so gravely, yet…he did know what werewolf tasted like, didn’t he? Killian’s urge to laugh ended abruptly, but his smile remained. Colton looked so very yummy with his hair tousled across his pillows and the candlelight flickering across his skin. Aroused again, Killian was eager to take the rest of his payment. “Roll over,” he said. In the first real sign of defiance, he didn’t. Sucking in a sharp breath, he froze, muscles straining. “Right now!” Killian meant it and his voice backed him up. With a fearful glance, Colton rolled over and laid face down on the mattress with palms down, hands clenched into fists. Killian had forgotten the brush on the mantle and was of no mind to get it, mad as the defiance made him. He wasn’t just going to climb on and get to it—really, the man was a bloody wreck. Using his two-fingered technique again, Killian touched the long, smooth back and waited. Colton stuffed his face into the mattress, appearing unwilling to dare breathing. When the fingers were accepted, Killian flattened his hand. Then he began to caress, leisurely and lightly. It didn’t take long for Colton to turn his head; he had to breathe after all, shifter or no. Killian let his hands go everywhere, and he sat up so he could have freer use of his best weapons. Golden tresses were fingered, ear lobes tickled and that satin ribbon was brushed with thumbs and tugged on, a silent affirmation. His fingers appreciated the long back and the play of muscles underneath them, journeyed the length of spine and strong arms. Patient, Killian made his way slowly lower. Naturally the man had nice legs too. All of him was nice. “Spread your legs a bit,” he said as he reached thighs with pale soft hair. “Slide one knee up.” A touch of resistance there too and then compliance—Killian’s hands now had access to areas he wanted to concentrate on, lavish attention on in his continued seduction. First, he stroked up thigh and hip on the outside, savoring the texture. Clenched fingers slowly opened. Once those touches were accepted, Killian stroked the inside, delighting in the textures he found there, hard muscle and soft skin. Last, he ran a hand over the firm slope of buttock, squeezing and fondling. Fingers on the mattress twitched, but didn’t clench. Feather-lightly, Killian drifted his fingertips across the curve until they landed in the depression between the two sides where the spine ended. With slightly more pressure, Killian stroked right down the crack with his forefinger. Colton’s hips jerked. Very touchy he was about the subject! Killian wasn’t going there just yet, Colton was far from ready, but he fingered the area with far more determination, not inserting them anywhere, just asserting his dominance. With his hand still in the cleft, he bent forward and began kissing Colton’s back, starting with that wonderful red knot. Applying the slightest pressure with his fingers, Killian kept kissing, sometimes licking, and always enjoying the taste of sweet skin, all the while pressing his fingers ever-so-slightly harder. Even though he’d never had a virgin before, Killian knew that the kisses up top would be liked and the fingers below would be feared. All that was required was for the two sensations to become mingled, for the mind to realize that the fingers below were also pleasurable. It would take a while, and nothing would be rushed. Colton relaxed and accepted his hand. That meant he could remove it, having the other side to fondle first. “Roll back over,” he commanded. Must have been much easier on his nerves, for Colton complied, positively flinging himself over. And he was nicely hard. See? Patience always pays off. “You were good. I think I’ll reward you with more kisses.” And Killian did, but they were determined kisses, sexual kisses, and his tongue slid in and out, fast and greedy, with the same cadence as fucking. Time to wake Colton fully. Much more practiced with the art of the tongue, Killian licked and kissed and nipped his way down. By the time he reached one hip bone, Colton was breathing very hard. His erection was very hard. Tonight however, Colton wouldn’t get his tongue where he wanted it most. It would be torment, pure and simple. Killian would not pleasure him that way; he would pleasure him only one way, leaving his pretty little shifter with only one outlet. The depth of his own cruelty surprised him sometimes. If he wasn’t going to get into Killian’s mouth, Colton was at least going to feel his big hand. Colton was practically vibrating by the time Killian decided the anticipation had reached maximum intensity and he stroked the length of it. When he encircled it completely in his fist, Colton ground his feet into the mattress to keep from writhing. Continuing his torment, Killian slid his hand up and down a few times—not too hard, he didn’t want to hurt sensitive skin—but it was enough to make Colton moan. Ah. Moaning was almost as good as whimpering, but he’d get to that, oh yes, he would. Pausing his stroking at the tip, Killian let the plump, round head pop through the top of his thumb and forefinger. It was very, very hard not licking or sucking on that delightful ball of ultrasensitive flesh, but he reminded himself he was only going to give Blondie one outlet. One! He opened his fingers in abrupt release. Colton gasped and then made a small whimpered sound of discontent. Ooh, he was getting closer and closer to his favorite sound. Soon. In his bedside table was a delightful collection of lubricating jellies, some that went hot as you used them and some that claimed to enhance your pleasure. Killian wasn’t sure they actually worked, but when used, you got so much pleasure anyway, how could you tell? What he picked out was a tube of the slipperiest, slickest stuff ever made, plain KY. Sufficiently aroused, Colton didn’t look at it in horror; he only made another little whimpering sound. But Killian would use it on the front first. He was patient. With his hot hands and Colton lubed up into slippery goodness, he’d bring him to the verge of climax repeatedly, driving him mad with want. Then he’d tantalize him with something else. Shifter boy would give it all up, begging for more. Killian warmed it in his palm. It was absurdly slippery the first few strokes as the jelly got worked over the entire length of Colton’s erection, producing little friction. Then Killian really got to work, and he was a master at this particular skill, the skill of driving his lovers wild with want. Colton writhed, moaned and took catchy little breaths. Desperate, he clutched at pillows and sheets. Every time rushing, panting breaths told him Colton was close to climaxing, Killian backed off, sliding his hand down to the base and loosening his grip. By the third time, Colton was in agony. Such a fine thing to watch! Panting and sweaty, Colton grabbed Killian’s arm and dug his fingers in. “Killian,” he breathed. “Yes, Colton?” “Please.” It was begging, but not the right begging. Colton needed to beg wanting to be fucked, not just granted a climax. “No,” he denied. “You will get an orgasm when I want you to and not before.” The answering moan was filled with acute distress. A moment later, Killian began again, only this time he switched hands so that one could stroke and the other could slide lower. His hand went up and down, and Colton whimpered in time with the movements. Big fingers cupped his balls, heavy and wanting to burst, then slippery and hot they slid underneath to make their way into that cleft where he began his newest torment. This time the searching fingers were not feared. The only thing he was going to insert inside Colton was his hard dick, no fingers. His penis was smooth and sleek, no nails to scratch. Folding the upper part of his fingers in firmly, Killian pressed his knuckles tight against the opening, a suggestion only, and one received with a new and previously unheard whimper. It was all good.

“Lie on your side now, Colton,” he said, releasing both hands from their previous occupations and helping turn him, face away, his back exposed, his buttocks exposed. Killian applied a thick layer of lube to himself. He was more than ready and sucked his entire body up tight against Colton’s, delighting in the evilness of what was to come. A shifter! And his. All his. Breathing that had slowed a few seconds ago now began to accelerate, a panting full of both need and fearful anticipation. Killian slid his top leg forward slightly, a bend allowing him to insert himself between Colton’s legs. There was nothing demanding about it, just a positioning of body parts for better fit. Beginning again, he laid kisses on Colton’s shoulder, interspersed them with gentle bites, curved his arm over hip and set his hand to resume its earlier torment, squeezing and stroking. Shifter boy was so hot and hard, Killian was sincerely impressed. Giving himself pleasure while he was doing it, he moved his hips gently, allowing his engorged and hungry cock to slide up and down inside the cleft, pressing, awakening nerve endings and making its presence known. Colton’s panting sped up. Then came what Killian had been waiting so long for. “Killian…” a whisper, a sigh, a word full of longing. “You want something, Colton?” he said back. Killian’s voice had gone all husky, not that he could help it. “Please.” “Tell me what you want, pretty one.” More whimpering, then “I don’t know!” spoken in rush. “I think you know,” he said, sliding his entire body lower. “You tell me when you’re ready.” It was necessary to stop his stroking again. There was no way he could let Colton climax, being so close to his goal. Killian pressed the leg forward, leaving a sticky, wet trail on hip and thigh, and grabbed his own shaft. Gently, he nudged the fat head directly against Colton’s untried opening. The hiccupped moan Colton made was pure bliss to his ear, indescribable, but he thought it said, I don’t want this, b ut I have to have it! Wanting to shove—he was beyond eager himself—Killian breathed deeply and nudged harder, spreading the slippery substance where it would be most needed. Lubricated fully, he circled the area with the tip, applying a slight pressure he increased bit by bit. Colton’s shoulders shook. Killian rocked his hips gently back and forth, applying a nudge of pressure then backing off, over and over again. Colton was really fighting it—his body was in agony and yet he wouldn’t give it up. Defiant and stubborn to the core! Killian would break him. His hips applied more pressure, the rocking pace picked up and his large head pressed into that puckered opening almost to the point of entry. But he wouldn’t enter, he’d damned well get what he wanted first. A new whimper sang in his ears. It spoke volumes on the subject of misery. Any second now… “Killian,” he begged. “Please!” Yes! Finally, the best begging of all. “Please. Please, oh God, please!” Although he thought a great many words, Killian’s throat wouldn’t work properly and all he managed was a grunt of acknowledgement. He was in misery too. Desire burned in his chest, heat ran the length of his shaft and fire torched his balls, all encouraging his sole purpose, and he tried again, “Please, what?” The struggle was over and Colton gave it all up. “Please! I want…I need…” Colton was having trouble finding the words. “You want me inside you?” “Yes!” he gasped. “Please, Killian!” “Say it.” When Killian meant break, he really meant it. “Say it!” Ah, the trembling. “I want it! Please, Killian.” And he said it. “Fuck me.” Killian heard it the first time, but Colton dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper and said it again and again, begging for all he was worth. Angling himself for the best penetration, Killian held himself tightly just below the head—his fingers were so slippery—and pressed forward, this time not stopping when he met resistance. Colton was so fucking tight. Killian stretched him. Blondie’s body was powerless to prevent the intrusion, he was simply too lubricated—too slippery and the pressure too great and the body too needful. With a tiny thrust, the swollen head of Killian’s cock stretched open the barrier and took Colton’s virginity in one well-aimed push. Stars! Killian actually saw stars, or some other form of explosion was occurring before his closed eyes. Tight! Squeezing. Hot. Holy fucking hell! Colton shuddered and made an interesting strangled noise he finished up with a grunt that might have been, “Oh!” No shoving. No shoving! It was a direct order from addled brain to straining cock. Killian wanted to thrust himself into that squeezing, burning tunnel of hotness more than he wanted anything else in the world, now or ever. But he said he wouldn’t and he always kept his word. It was almost killing him, that keeping of it, but he pushed in farther, just an inch, and slid back again, then another fraction of an inch in, getting another whimpering grunt. Taken at last, Colton gave him the best of all whimpers. Muscles contracted, sphincters squeezed. “Relax,” he cautioned with his unsteady voice, “relax, pretty one. Don’t fight me. I told you not to fight me. Breathe.” The pulsing, almost painful squeezing continued for a few seconds, but then Colton’s thrumming body started to relax. “Relax. Let me in, don’t fight me.” Killian rocked his hips, the head slid back and forth, never coming all the way out, but stretching, widening, making Colton ready for more. When he reached for and stroked Colton’s impossibly hard cock, Colton bucked backward, inadvertently sending Killian deeper and causing Colton to cry out hoarsely. Killian set a steadying hand on his hip. “Accept me,” he commanded, seductively. “Accept me and relax. Let me in and let your body enjoy it, don’t fight it. I will give you more, Blondie. Slowly. I promise.” Gentle thrusts back and forth encouraged acceptance. When he slid in deeper, so smooth and slick it couldn’t be helped, Killian encountered the next barrier, the final one to open and stretch before he could take full penetration. “Killian,” Colton moaned. “Oh God!” “Grab the silk cord—grab it and hold on!” Blind fumbling paid off, the cord was found and Colton wrapped an end around each of his own hands, thick loops of black, a secure tether. It might have been the most erotic thing Killian had ever seen. Thus with Colton secured, he ground his back teeth together, thrust his hips, pushed forward with his very thick and long cock and took full possession of his enemy’s body. Complete possession. Complete surrender. The best of both worlds. Colton cried out his name with a shuddering sigh. “Killian!” “Yes, pretty one, you are mine.” “Killian…yes…” A gentleman kept his promises; promise to be gentle at first now kept, Killian abandoned his gentlemanly ways. Colton was hot and wanting and tight and his, his, his! Killian’s pulse quickened to a speed that hammered in his ears, blood rushing and beating like great wings. Colton would give him more. When he pulled out, it hurt, squeezing like a vise. “Get on your hands and knees!” His command was little more than a snarl, and that couldn’t be helped. He was a werewolf, after all. Hands tangled in cords trembled and that proud, defiant body shook. Killian assisted him, roughly and forcefully. Colton’s hands were spread and his legs were shoved apart by one muscular thigh. It was the ultimate position of dominance, and Killian wanted to watch, yes!—watch himself thrust in and out of that beautiful ass, that tight hole—he would. His own hands shook as he applied more lubricant to himself. Watching, mesmerized by the sight of his impossibly swollen cock pressed against Colton’s opening, Killian pushed the fat purple head back in. Colton was as tight as before and, with a silent pop, the head was taken in and squeezed by unyielding flesh. The renewed invasion made Colton gasp loudly. Killian wouldn’t pull it all the way out again. It was in for the duration now. And while his greedy, lusting body was capable of holding out for a very long time, he didn’t think he’d be able to ride Colton for as long as did in his fantasies. His pride, however, demanded he make a good job of it. Rocking hips and powerful thighs worked his cock almost the rest of the way in. “You like that, pretty one?” He gasped. “Isn’t it good? You want the rest?” Colton’s grunt indicated that, no thank you, he didn’t want anymore, even if he liked it, but Killian gave it to him anyway, one sure, swift stroke burying the full length and breadth of him to the hilt. The force rocked Colton forward, head just missing that spiky metal headboard. “Brace yourself! I said I was gonna fuck you real hard and I am.” And he did. The first few strokes were merciful, such pleasure for both of them, but Killian meant to take and take and take and therefore thrust and thrust and thrust. He drove Colton relentlessly. His groin and belly smacked Colton’s backside like a leather strap and he rode him to the very limit of his ability to endure. As much of a taker as he was, Killian could also give. “You want to come, pretty one? Come for me. Come hard!” Too many sensations. Too full, the pumping too hard and too fast, Colton’s abused body couldn’t get there without one last push, one last act of mercy. Slowing slightly, Killian fondled the curve of one buttock right where it joined the thigh, one of his favorite spots and, reaching around, took Colton’s cock in his hand and stroked him. Powerful shoulders hunched, pressing sinuous spine down. Muscles quivered with exertion, with shattering nerves. The black rope was pulled so hard the headboard groaned with a metallic screech. And at last, the proud, blond head bowed down in absolute surrender. The red ribbon shimmered. Killian sent Colton into the realm of ecstasy. Ah Bella Luna! Colton did come hard, so hard with muscles clenched so tightly it felt like Killian’s penis was being ripped. It hurt, it hurt deliciously. That damned red ribbon! It was turning everything red. Killian’s hips pumped. He was ruthless and the pressure was built up to the point of imminent explosion. Oh how he wanted, wanted, wanted! Bella Luna whispered his name and flooded him with power. Accepting the power turned his midnight blue eyes, his almost black eyes crimson. A deadly light shone. His vision went straight into hunt mode. Every sound, and Colton was making a great many gasping, whimpering ones, cries, even—was twice as loud, clear, as if amplified by machines. His nose scented things with a new clarity, bringing alive smells that had once been only a muted and weak collection of molecules. The musky smell of sex overpowered every other scent, taking his breath away. His body remained wholly human. Shifting is forb idden, you give up that power once you enter. It b ecomes lost to you. At last, Killian climaxed. For the first time ever, he climaxed with the heightened senses of the dark wolf, and it was impossibly fantastic, mind-blowing, and he joined Colton in the realm of ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, continuing always and forever, an endless crash of surf against a faraway shore. Secrets were revealed. Killian knew his full power. Killian surrendered his body to it and let it take him away. When he came back to himself, he was still on Colton’s body, lying on him, crushing him, still inside him. The crimson light was gone, but the surge of power would never be forgotten. His shifter had given him a second gift, mayhap even a greater gift. The gift of the hunt. The power of the hunt was inside him now and would be until death, and he’d not brought harm to any creature to get it. Well, except maybe Colton? Spent, but still slightly swollen, Killian pulled out. His cock felt bruised, battered. The rest of him felt wonderful. They were slick with sweat, stuck together and burning hot. With a little effort, and that was all he could muster, he slid wetly to the side, giving Colton back his breath. With his face pressed against the mattress, Blondie whimpered quietly. Moving higher and keeping tight, almost vacuum-sealed, Killian cuddled him. His trembling fingers brushed sweaty hair from Colton’s face. It was wet. Gentle once again, Killian caressed a high cheekbone wet from tears. It was all good. When you broke someone, you had to expect them to cry. “I’ll take your tears too, Colton,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “I’ll have everything. Give them to me. Give them all to me.” Pretty, demented shifter man did. With his face buried in the mattress and with Killian’s arms around him, he wept. Soundlessly. His shoulders shook as he let it all out, let it all go and gave in to that which was needful.

Tears came fast and furious, a fountain of sorrow. For a man who came to his door begging for death, he didn’t cry long. Stupid shifters. They couldn’t even cry properly. When he was done and his shoulders quit shaking, Killian brushed the sweaty hair up off his neck and kissed that downy soft, sweet spot. The slowing beat of Colton’s pulse tingled in his lips. “Thank you, Colton,” he whispered in his ear. There was only truth allowed in his room, and he was thankful. It was rather a confusing emotion. Blondie was covering his face with his hand, shielding his eyes, ashamed. Killian peeled them off, finger by finger. “Stop that,” he admonished. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Colton. There’s no shame between lovers.” The word lovers gave Blondie a shiver and Killian a chuckle. “Yes, we are lovers now, my pretty one. And you are a splendid lover.”

Chapter Eight

Getting out of bed was difficult, an exercise in soreness and lameness. How could this happen? Killian’s legs felt like they belonged to someone else—a rubber chicken? They were all shaky. Abdominal muscles were complaining, and he worked out too, prided himself on his washboard abs, but now they felt like he’d done a thousand consecutive crunches. His balls ached and his penis was sore. Ah—it was all good. They needed a bath, both of them. Stickiness prevailed. The smell of sex was everywhere, delightful, but so strong a wash was surely in order. Pouring a bath in his big soaker tub would also give Colton a minute to get himself together. Killian wanted to fix him, yes, and put him back where he belonged, but you could only lend a hand, you couldn’t actually do it for them. Blondie needed to dig deep. No help for it. But he’d given up everything and it hadn’t killed him. A great deal could be gained from that knowledge. Killian was blissfully happy. It took quite a few minutes to figure out what that emotion was he was feeling. He sure had some nerve. Sometimes he surprised himself. Taking a shifter as a lover, breaking his will, making him surrender in his bed—Christ, he was the best hunter of them all. No wonder Bella Luna gifted him thusly. The power still thrummed in him, a stirring up of ancient echoes. Or was it just aftershocks from coming so hard? They kept nailing him, even now. Colton was flat on his back with one wiry arm across his eyes, legs splayed. Guess he finally got over his shyness. “Are you alive there, Blondie?” he teased. Colton grunted some sort of acknowledgment. A moment later he said, “I finally figured out your strange name.” “A killing frost?” he replied. “Yeah, that’s it,” he went on, his voice still weak and broken from crying. “You’re like one of those fall days that still feels like summer and all the things are still ripening in the garden. And afternoon comes, and the cold comes with it, a sharp breath with the chill of winter in it. You recognize it, but it’s too late, you can’t tend your garden. It’s dark. Then it comes—the bitter cold, the first frost. Ice on the leaves, it’s suddenly there, growing and sparkling so pretty…and then…it kills. You didn’t see it coming…it was so silent. Yes…you’re like that…like that killing frost.” He took a single shuddering breath. “You are the evilest werewolf I have ever met.” “Thank you,” he said, and meant it too. It was a compliment. “Very poetic. And the longest run of words you’ve ever said to me. But I am not evil. I’m merely wicked.” “There’s a difference?” “Sure, it’s a matter of degree. It’ll come to you in time.” The arm was still across the eyes, but Killian knew they stared, red-rimmed and sightless at the ceiling. “You will keep your end of our bargain?” Killian was annoyed instantly. “It’s not morning yet. The deal was all night, and I’m not finished with you.” Colton muffled his groan of protest with his other arm. “If you can walk yet, I poured a bath. Go get in it.” Five minutes passed before Colton managed to get off the bed. His walk was shaky and uncoordinated, but his back was straight, the core of his self reasserting itself. Colton lived, and, so living, was fixable. Oddly, it suddenly seemed very important to Killian that he b e fixed. Privacy—he’d give Colton some and take some for himself. Emotions were flooding through him and chief among them was satisfaction, and that was to be expected. He was supremely satisfied and, for once, sated. He’d take more, of course. They had a deal and a Frost always made sure he got the best of any deal. Thrill was making him jumpy. He was utterly thrilled. With everything! And hidden amongst those big shiny triumphs was a niggling prickle of…worry. Control was everything, he must have control, but he swam in uncharted waters. It was utterly important he not fuck this up, must not fuck up this bizarre thing between him and Colton. Werewolves made sucky fishermen. Fish took off like darts the other way, kind of like dogs and horses. Cats would put up a fight—they saw you for what you were—but he must turn fisherman. Must fish for the reason Colton didn’t want to live anymore. The concept was alien to him—who wouldn’t want to live forever? And he had only this night, what was left of it, to figure it all out. Then he had to keep up his end of the bargain and consider one final, decisive hunt. A brief image flashed in his mind’s eye—the back of Colton’s neck, just above that red ribbon—that downy soft spot, that killing spot. A killing frost…I am a killing frost. No! I don’t want to kill. Not him. Not anyone. Hunt! I am a sharp b reath of the chill of winter…I am, I am, I am… No! Control was everything. And he was a master of self-control. Killian would be what he chose to be, not what he was born to be. Bella Luna could not claw back her gift, he was more than he was yesterday, true, but she could…kiss his ass. Decided and sure, he went to join Colton in his deep bathtub. Water swooshed alarmingly close to the edge as he settled his large bulk in with Colton’s large bulk. Legs were everywhere. Colton looked just as delicious wet, and his red-rimmed lids only pulled the green out of his hazel eyes. He was so fucking beautiful—no way was he going to destroy him. They eyed each other and took each other’s measure anew. Colton spoke first. “I don’t understand what you want to do to me that you haven’t already done.” Still worried, after everything…or was it because of everything? Killian found the question funny and restrained himself from laughing. He only smirked. “Maybe I just want to do the same things to you all over again.” Colton closed his eyes. “You were a very good boy. I’ll be gentler with you next time.” Ah. A spark of defiance, a flash of green eyes. Killian was happy to see it. He would not fuck up and would not break him again. The red ribbon, soaked and looking a little worse for wear, kept the sassy mouth sealed. If he was any good as a werewolf at all, he would seize that ribbon, stick a claw into that weak link in the man’s armor and rip and break and shatter until there was nothing left of Colton Décarie. But then…what’s the fun in a broken toy? Water could swoosh onto his floor all it wanted. Killian floated across the small space of tub between them and caressed Colton’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Give me your mouth, pretty one,” he said with the gentleness he intended to bestow in other areas. “I love your mouth.” They kissed as lovers. The change was there, subtle, but things were no longer so one-sided between them. Yes, Colton was still his to do with as he pleased, a deal was a deal, but there was room for more now. They shared tongues. Killian kissed him thoroughly, deeply and for quite some time. Things began to stir under the water, for both of them. It was only natural that he should reach between Colton’s legs and begin to rouse him, but his legs tensed, and he tried to slam them shut. That whimper of distress hadn’t gone very far away. “Colton—” “I’m sorry! I know I promised. I’m sorry—I just don’t think I can…endure it again, Killian.” Colton looked thoroughly miserable. “I wasn’t that rough on you. You worry too much, you fear too much. Let me make love to you slowly—you’ll see. I will give you much pleasure.” Shifter boy needed convincing. “I will take you from the front this time, nice and slow. You will be very aroused. My tongue will be in your mouth and my hand wrapped around your cock. I will stroke you senseless. I will fuck you gently.” Killian gave him another kiss. “I want you to like it, my pretty one.” “You’re too big!” Well…he was. Other men could handle him only once. There had been a lot of stretching involved and a lot of force at the end, and it was possible Colton was…sore. “I have a solution for that.” Blondie was a skeptic. “Shift for me.” Skeptical and shocked—he sucked in a deep breath. “Are you crazy?” “Me?” he said with indignation. “You’re the one that wants the suicide by werewolf. You are seriously pissing me off here, Blondie.” “But—” “I will have you again, Colton. However I want. I would rather you enjoy it too. I want to watch your face when you climax this time. I want to take all your wonderful little whimpers into my mouth. But you would rather be a defiant little bastard. Maybe I should let you suffer. I can get off on your suffering too.” “I hate you.” “Is that so? Too fucking bad!” Their glares were mutual. As much as Killian was ticked, he was pleased to see a little bit of spit and fire. He could get off on spit and fire too. “Shift for me.” Then he grinned. Wickedness made him do it. “Show me your wolf and I’ll show you mine.” All shape-shifters had one primal form that required no reading of DNA. It was within them, always ready, willing and able to kill. A wolf. Shifters and werewolves were distant brothers, after all. Killian truly believed this, and at some point in times past, their lines diverged. One went light and the other went dark. The sun embraced one and the moon called the other into her embrace. All of a sudden he was desperate to see Colton shape-shift. Just once. It was a sight he’d never seen—a shifter in action. He didn’t want any of the action, of course, just the seeing of the transformation before his eyes. “Shift for me. Show me your other self. I want to see you.” Colton’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “It’ll fix you up, pretty one. Then you’ll enjoy me more.” “There’s a full moon.” “We won’t do it at the same time, you idiot.” Really, shifters could be so dense. “One at a time. I can control myself. I don’t want to fight you. And besides, you do want me to kill you.”

“But I don’t want to kill you.” At least Blondie could get to the point fast. “Then don’t. Just shift for me once and then we’ll come back to bed and we’ll have wet, slippery, fantastic sex and you’ll like everything I do to you.” The gears were turning again in that wet, blond head. Killian expected a yes, really it was only, what?—a lick of red, but what Colton whispered instead stunned him. “I don’t want to hunt anymore. I can’t bear it.” An unexpected revelation, a piece of the truth. Just like that. Silence settled in the room for a moment, and Killian didn’t want to push too hard. Colton was still too raw. But he had volunteered it. Freely. “Is that why you don’t want to live anymore?” Colton covered his face with a big, wet hand. A sigh, then, “Yes…” a pause, “…partly.” Stunned as he was, Killian couldn’t find any words. A shifter who didn’t want to hunt? Christ! Next thing he’d be finding out the world was flat. “Tell me,” he encouraged. It was not an order and there was no demand in his tone. “You wouldn’t understand,” he whispered. Blondie wanted to talk, wanted to say it and needed somebody to understand. Was there nobody for him? “I don’t want to hunt and neither do you. Maybe I will.” With a splash, the big hand fell back to the tub. “I hate killing,” Blondie finally confessed. “At the time…I love it. Sinking my teeth deep and ripping, ripping and ripping. I love the taste of your blood in my mouth. It’s horrible! All rot and death and…and fire on my tongue…but it’s the best thing ever.” Killian held his breath. This part was kind of sucking. “How can that be me? It’s not me! It’s this thing inside me that takes over and I hate it.” Colton raised his voice. “I hate it! It’s filling up all the empty parts of me and I’m losing!” A wee flash of temper was brewing in the man’s heart, and Killian hungered to learn more. “What of the captive souls?” There was that otherworldly light again, it was just there—wham! You will not b e forgiven. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “For that? It’s worth it. But Killian? I don’t come across it all that often. Only a few times in my whole life.” “Really?” A nod. “The world has moved on, I think—humans—pure-bloods? I think maybe they are stronger now—smarter. They hold on to their souls like the treasures they are. Mostly only the old ones have them now, ones taken when humans were…more…fearful. Primitive. Weaker and ruled by superstition.” Shit. “So what do you hunt?” “I hunt murderers. That’s what they are now, you know, murderers. Most can’t even capture the departing souls anymore, but the need is so strong, so deep in the blood that they must go for the kill. But it’s like killing a rabid dog—you have to do it, but you don’t like doing it.” Truly, it was a night of revelations. Killian wanted it to stop now. “I wish…” “Hmm?” “I wish you would just stop it. There’s no point in it.” “I know that.” Colton grunted. “Mind telling the others for me?” Actually, he would mind. Werewolves were hot-tempered and not all that rational when the blood was roused. Making such a suggestion would likely mean having his throat forcibly removed. Sure, he’d tell them. “Would make no difference,” he finally said. There was nothing else Killian could say to him. It was that place right in the middle of the line between good and evil—neither could cross it. The water was cooling. Unable to discuss it further, they were silent, silent and thoughtful. He washed Blondie’s hair, enjoying the sensation of wet silk in his hands. Colton washed his; it was like getting head sex. They toweled each other. It made him horny. “Still want me to shift for you?” Colton asked after sliding into a borrowed robe. Ah, damn. Was he a coward or what? “Yes.” “Fine.” “Downstairs. The no-shifting rule is still in effect here.” “Yes, Killian. I know.” “Smartass. I really hate a smartass. I want to cure you of it.” “I need my bracelet.” Ah, crap. Extra matter? This was sounding worse by the second. “Just what exactly did you have in mind, shifter boy?” His answer was a graceful, shifter shrug. “It’s your house.” Bloody fool would wreck things. Killian retrieved the diamond links from his suit pocket, detangling it from the length of red ribbon. Damned ribbon, it still felt…enticing, so he put it in the pocket of his robe.

Chapter Nine

Darkness had invaded the living room fully and the curtains were all closed tight against the intrusion of the beloved moon. No matter, Killian still felt it. It loved him. He flicked on the lights. “Guests first,” he said. “I’m at your service,” Colton muttered. “Yes. You are.” Shyness completely gone now, he took off his robe and flung it on the couch. “Back up,” he warned. “And don’t touch me.” Like he would. He liked his fingers. “Bracelet.” Pulling it from his pocket, Killian gave it a cursory examination. It was expensive. When he tossed it, a diamond twinkled, scattering a brilliant arc of light across the wall. It never reached Colton’s hand. His eyes barely registered the presence of the dull white glow—too fast! The bracelet levitated, just for a second or two, an odd, stunningly abnormal sight—it appeared to hang in the air for a second, a video paused. Then time resumed, followed by a soundless explosion, a scattering of light and a ripping apart of molecules down to their base atoms. The power of creation! And Colton was no longer standing there. A fucking enormous wolf was glaring at him with massive yellow eyes. Almost made his knees buckle. “Holy shit!” he gasped. Colton Décarie was huge! At least three times larger than a normal wolf in the real world. Killian’s head would fit quite nicely in its mouth, and that’s exactly why he was so bloody big. The wolf’s pelt was a tawny blond, long and lush and shiny, only the bottom half was out of whack—black as sin. The four legs were black and where the two colors met, the black swirled into the blond like flames. This wasn’t how shifters were supposed to look. So wrong! Colton was just as beautiful shifted—deadly, but beautiful. The great wolf bared his fangs—fucking huge, nasty, shifted fangs. The shock of the sight had Killian numbed for a moment, only a moment, and then it passed. Killian’s blood began calling to him and it wasn’t the same as before. That was someone else. The power of his new self was immense and it was…it was going to b reak free! Soon everything would be red. “Colton!” he yelled. “Shift back. Do it now!” Fast! Thank the Lovely Moon, Colton was fast. Every single speck of Killian’s will was summoned to keep the peace. The crimson shadow invaded his line of sight. Peace shifter. Peace werewolf! Killian repeated the words in his head three times. Then his iron will did reassert itself, and he knew who he was. A flash flood of pain struck Colton’s naked, human body. Killian’s all-seeing eyes noticed it all, the flushing skin, the constricting blood vessels, the tight muscles and the silent parting of lips as he endured the kiss of thorns, silent as stone. “Your eyes are red,” Colton accused in a deep, pain-riddled voice. “No shit!” he replied. “No hunting,” he cautioned. “The only thing I’m gonna hunt is your sweet ass.” “You’re disgusting.” “You’re gonna like it.” “Prove it!” Colton said in a low growl. Oh ho! A challenge. There was nothing better. Colton was showing some fucking spine. “Just as soon as I’ve shown you mine.” He discarded his robe. A thoughtful pause lingered before Colton said, “Are you all ugly and bony with spikes down your spine?” “Certainly not! I am so going to fucking beat you for that offensive suggestion. I am the most beautiful werewolf you’ll ever see.” “You smell different.” “Oh? Come here and lick me and you can tell me if I taste different too.” “Show me,” Colton urged, ignoring his invitation. “I want to see you. You agreed.” There was pain, brief but intense, as Killian’s face broke apart and reformed, his body following, snapping and breaking and sounding as gruesome as the finished result. The shift went incredibly fast. His body wanted it, hungered for the transformation more than it had in a very long time. The moon. It fed him up. The red glow of his eyes was brilliant, a deadly crimson light bright enough to see it reflected against the walls and polished wood. Every scent was full—loud. Colton smelled utterly delicious and utterly impossible to identify. The world was larger than life. So beautiful! Dark corners vanished and he could see

everything. A car full of human partygoers passed by the house; he felt each and every heartbeat, felt the blood flowing through their veins and the little pinpricks of heat holding their life force. Killian felt their souls. Colton, curse his do-gooder shifter heart, was not afraid. Wary, yes, but not afraid, even though Killian knew he was bigger now, maybe as big as Colton had been. Bella Luna had fed him up to bursting fullness and screwing Colton Décarie had opened the way for it. Unbelievable! The night, the waning night, beckoned him. His feet longed for the dark path, the grass under his paws, and his nose sought the night scents thick on the air. Ah. It would be fantastic. But not as fantastic as taking Colton back to his bedroom and having his way with him. It hurt when it all went back in again. When he was standing on human legs again, just the measly two of them, he was panting and hot. And so fully aroused he wanted to fling Blondie over the back of the couch and fuck him savagely. Lust felt in werewolf form was simply overpowering. Colton noticed—impossible not to, what with it fully erect and pointing directly at him. “Killian—” “Upstairs!” Not waiting for an answer, Killian grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. Resistance was futile, and Colton went, Killian’s crushing grip dragging him up the stairs, through the door and onto the bed. They had a brief struggle there. Colton didn’t like this new and nasty Mr. Frost. Not only was Killian a master knot tier, he roped faster than a rodeo star. The silken ropes were wound, knotted and binding in seconds. He was in a rare temper. Defiance was rearing its head again, and Colton was rebelling and calling him uncomplimentary names under his breath. Cool it! Don’t fuck this up! The voice of reason was so annoying. Killian considered disobeying it. Straddling Colton’s hips with his strong thighs and shoving his chest down with his big hands aroused him mightily, and that’s when he suddenly realized what he was doing. This behavior was beneath him. It was unworthy of him. “You’re not keeping your word!” Colton charged, and rightly. “I will!” he yelled back. With a calming breath, he repeated more rationally, “I will.” Spit and fire was sparking Colton’s eyes. “You’re a bloody temperamental werewolf, aren’t you?” Ah—well. Had him there, didn’t he? “Not usually. But tonight? Yes. I guess I was. Am. You make me all hot and bothered.” “I told you it was a bad idea.” Had he? Not in so many words, maybe… “You were very pretty. Just like you are right now.” Stilling his abusive hand into gentleness, he caressed Colton’s chest, running his fingers across one nipple. “Wasn’t I beautiful?” He got a derogatory noise in response. “I didn’t think you’d be so huge.” “Oh?” “And your eyes. Kinda gave me the willies.” “Really?” he said, caught off-guard and…secretly pleased. “I creeped out the great Colton Décarie?” “Not exactly. But you were very…intimidating. I’m impressed.” Ah, the compliment was so wonderful. He liked it very much. “Did you like my pelt?” The corner of Colton’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “The best part of you. No bones at all. Very handsome.” “Thank you.” “I’ve never seen one of you with a silver stripe down your back before.” “What?” He was all black, had no stripe. Colton, for the first time ever, laughed. “A touch of frost?” Well, damn. Every gift had a cost. His vanity stung for second. “Killian?” “Hmm?” “Get off me.” “No.” “What do you weigh? Two-forty?” “Are you implying something, smartypants?” “I’m implying you’re crushing my liver.” “Then I guess I’ll just have to distribute my weight more evenly.” Temper gone, Killian slid his legs out and spread his entire weight over the defenseless body. “I see I’m going to have to reassert my authority over you. It’s still night time and you’re still mine.” The red ribbon was gone, vanished into the shift glow. “Are you going to beat me now?” “Yes. I am going to torture you most thoroughly. You’ll beg me for mercy before I’m done with you.” Colton closed his eyes and the black cords pulled taut. “Yes, Killian,” he said with a resigned sigh. This was so good. Blondie didn’t know the form of torture he was going to apply. His weapon of choice was his tongue. Exposed nipples were his first targets and first victims as he licked and bit them gently with his front teeth, eliciting several sucked-in breaths from his prey. It had never been his intention to give his mouth this night, but damn it, the boy was just too goddamn tasty. Instead of a hand-job, Killian wanted to tongue him into begging. The end result would be the same. Kissing slowly, he ventured lower, tickling, arousing, sending muscles into quivering spasms. With cruel, deliberate slowness he licked his way down the arrow of dark blond hair under Colton’s navel and sucked in flesh at the base of his hard penis. Breathing hotly, he brushed it with his nose, but purposefully did not lick it or take it into his mouth. Blondie’s hips came off the mattress. Lovely pants filled his ears. “Killian!” “Yes, pretty one?” “Stop doing this to me.” Laughing softly, Killian laid his jaw on Colton’s groin and let the vibration of it torment him also. “Please,” Colton begged. “Please what? You want me to put you in my mouth?” “God, yes!” “Hmmm,” he hummed, letting the vibration travel through his cheek to the hard shaft that lay against it. “I’m punishing you, Colton. Now, if I were to take you in my mouth and suck on you, that wouldn’t really be punishment would it?” The ropes pulled and the headboard squeaked. Colton’s next sound was full of frustration. “Killian,” he moaned. Really! He’d told Colton he was going to do the same things to him all over again, so why was he asking for something different? The tube of lubricant was a lump under the sheet and Killian felt for it, licking back up the sensitive belly. “You know what the best part of your shifting was for me, Colton?” A frustrated snap of voice said, “No.” With a wicked chuckle, Killian poured the jelly into his hand and warmed it. “Your body is back to its virginal state all over again.” A shocked gasp—it was a shocking notion, even to him, and it had happened to him more than once, being a shifter too, of sorts. “I hate you!” His wet, greased hand slid down the length of Colton’s cock with a calculated slipperiness. “But you want me.” Shifter boy wanted to declare he didn’t. The words were stinging the tip of his tongue. Stroking, Killian turned the held-back words to moans. Applying a little more pressure, he sped up the stroking to a rhythm that would bring him to orgasm damned fast. Christ, but he was a wicked werewolf! At the point that would have been no return, he stopped. Colton was writhing. “How ’bout a kiss?” he asked conversationally. “No!” Colton shouted. “You evil werewolf! You don’t deserve kisses.” “Well, now…that sounds like defiance. You damned well will kiss me and you’ll do a good job of it, otherwise you’ll suffer much longer.” With his hand still around Blondie’s erection, not stroking, only resting, he slid up and took his kiss. Pretty Colton could kiss like no one’s business. Made his head spin. His own erection was poking the man’s belly like a questing sword, desiring attention. But! On to other business—he was torturing someone. Was cruel to make them wait. This time he stopped halfway to the point of no return. Colton was panting quite heavily. Maybe he’d only have to do this twice instead of three times like the last? Wanting to find out, he pulled up and nudged Colton’s legs apart with his knees. They quaked a bit, but he didn’t try slamming them back together. Killian lubed himself, slid the hot length of stiff flesh between Colton’s legs, pressed it into that hot crack and continued his torment with his hand. It was so hot down there, deep between the strong legs. And the writhing! Colton was inadvertently pressing that purple head closer to its target. Or maybe it wasn’t so inadvertently? Killian nudged him back and forth a few times. Was he ready already? Nah. Colton wasn’t getting it until he begged for it. But damn, it was tight at this angle, the cheeks of Colton’s buttocks pressing together, the tip of his cock between them. Would be hard waiting for the begging. His hand stroked faster. “Killian—please!” Already? That was the fuck-me plea. “You want it, Colton? I want to give it to you very badly. I want to stretch you and open you and push the fat head into you right now. You want it?” Sweet, sweet whimpering arrived before his answering, “Yes!” Everything was slippery. Hot, horny and pulsing with desire, Colton wanted it bad. Killian pushed harder, not entering yet, only readying. “Pull up your knees a bit.” The knees went fast, a little too high, and Killian pulled them down and put them exactly where he wanted them. If he wasn’t careful, Colton would climax the second he entered him—must slow down the fondling hand. “Please,” the shifter begged some more. Killian pushed it in. The unbearable tightness was the same, just as if he’d never done this before. Ah. Cruel, cruel fate. Endless physical virginity was just plain awful. No wonder females didn’t shift. They only passed on the genes. Working it slowly, he pressed himself deeper. Such pleasure! Only this time, he would rein in his baser instincts and give his lover a wonderful experience, since he had b egged and all. Back and forth Killian rocked his hips, slow and easy in and out. Colton yielded up his body. If that body was untried all over again, at least his mind knew what to expect now. “Don’t fight me. Remember! Relax. Give yourself to me.” Sweet whimpering was music in the air. Filled with thrill again, Killian pushed himself all the way in, mind pulsing with fascination as his cock disappeared inch by fat pink inch. This repeated rapture might give him a heart attack. So tight. Hot. Raising Colton’s knees higher, he sent himself deeper, taking everything and giving back all he could. The bound hands pulled the cord almost onto snapping point, thrilling him further. God! How he liked to make his shifter whimper in submission. Blondie had his eyes closed, concentrating hard. Well, he could concentrate on a good orgasm in a moment…right now he just needed to…needed to…fuck him a bit longer. It was so good, good, good… The rhythm was timeless, the thrusting and rocking moving to a secret beat, the building excitement as old as mankind itself. Even if the joining was between two men, two enemies, the tune was the same, a primal love song. He must!—he must have Colton’s mouth, must take his moans into his own as he came this time. It was awkward and changed the angle, but it was a needful thing.

His lips met his lover’s lips. Salty sweat prickled Colton’s upper lip. They kissed ravenously, passionately, hot and dirty, all tongues and desperation. With a jerk of his body, Colton pulled his mouth free and, panting, said words Killian would have killed to hear: “Faster! Please, Killian. Faster!” Bella Luna! He was the luckiest man ever! Faster he went. The secret music built, reaching its crescendo to the sound of two panting bodies. Colton climaxed, as tight and gripping as before, but with much more pleasure. There was no hard edge to Killian’s thrusting and no forced surrender. His long, supple back arched against his bindings. Even before he was finished, Killian joined him, filling him deep, sighs of a thousand prayers upon his lips. Unfortunately, same as last time, Killian lost himself in it, consciousness coming back slow and delicious…and painful. He was large and Colton was impossibly tight. Pulling out was such sweet sorrow—what was that bloody quote? There were no tears this time to soothe, only a sweaty languor dissolving his body, all bones having turned to liquid. “Killian?” asked a small voice. “Huh?” he breathed. “Get the hell off me. Must you crush me?” “Quit whining,” he murmured, “really hate whiners.” “Can’t breathe.” And it didn’t sound like he could, either. “Yeah? Well, you’re not very soft anyways.” Rolling off made him see the kaleidoscope again, everything all flickering and hazy. More than anything at the moment, Killian wanted to curve himself around a warm back and stop the spinning, but the body was stretched out and uncooperative. The headboard shook. Oh yes. Bound and tied, a positively yummy and willing man. Minus the red ribbon, he was still a gift. “Are you gonna leave me like this all night?” There was a touch of annoyance in the tone—he really should do something about it. Just too much work. “I might. Seems to make you cooperative.” “I might be cooperative otherwise.” “Why risk it?” “Please, Killian?” As far as suck-ups went, it was pretty good and Killian had to laugh, softly, but it still hurt his belly. “You were a good boy.” “Don’t I deserve kisses too?” Lurching up onto his elbow, Killian eyed his pretty blond captive. “I seem to recall telling you to leave that smart mouth at home.” “I wasn’t being smart.” Colton was silent for a second and then chuckled himself. “Christ, I can’t even think straight.” “Really?” Killian didn’t like that note of eager hopefulness he heard in his own voice. Was he so besotted? “Kisses first? Or shall I cut you loose?” In a surprise response, Colton said, “Kisses.” Well. Stupid shifter. With his leg, he pinned the rest of Colton’s body, hooking his ankle under his outside leg. Refusal was not an option, for he really liked that sweet mouth, so he gave in and kissed him, and did a good job of it too. The knot was something else. He tied that? What the hell? Killian couldn’t figure it out and would have to cut it off and that meant he’d have to get up —not far, there was a knife in his bedside table for self-defense. Not that he’d ever needed it. Since Colton could easily kill him anyway, he didn’t bother putting it back in the drawer. “Now, come here,” Killian said when the last of the cord snapped free. “Give me what’s left of you.” It might have taken only seconds, could have been hours, time was loose and elastic, but he fell asleep curled around his enemy’s body, the sheet tangled around their twined limbs. Rest for the wicked.

Chapter Ten

Too pathetic really; even in sleep he had to dominate. Ah, well—he was what he was. Colton was trying to escape into a patch of personal space, but Killian’s hand was knotted in tangled blond hair, keeping him close, along with one leg twined around his calf. Must not be very comfortable, but Colton was sleeping. Early dawn’s light was crushing Bella Luna’s dominance under its hot heel. The glow was faint, but seeping in around the edges of the curtains. Curse stupid summertime. Dawn came far too early. His time was up and too fucking soon. Blondie was angelic in sleep, the only place he truly let go—unless he dreamed of his sorrows? Able to get away with it without being unseemly, Killian stared at him with conflicting emotions. How he wanted to memorize every line and curve of that face. Truly remarkable—a shifter asleep in his arms. Killing his pretty, demented, blond shifter boy was not possible. Might as well slay an angel and steal its wings. If Colton was a ruthless killer…well, then those killed surely had it coming. For no good reason a human face appeared in his memory, not one stunningly beautiful or having anything remarkable about it except it always wore a smile. It was the baker lady at that small place a few blocks over—she made the best cinnamon buns on the face of the earth. Being a creature of the night, he seldom got any, they sold out fast to early birds, but sometimes, some precious few times, he got some. Never having been to bed at all, of course. She was of middling age, slightly plump—Christ, she was a baker—and flirted with him shamelessly. Killian worshipped the flour-coated ground she walked on. Colton might as well ask him to kill her too. But he must keep his word, it was agreed. Damn, how did he get himself into these things? Never would have guessed Colton would go for it. The words had just popped out of his mouth, and at the very least it should have gotten rid of Blondie for good. Fool must want to die very badly. Fucking up was not an option. All he said was he would consider it. Considering could take quite some time, couldn’t it? Could it take long enough for Blondie to find himself? Find something to live for? “I can hear you thinking.” Colton’s groggy mumble startled him. “Go back to sleep,” he hushed. Colton extracted his head from Killian’s fingers. “It’s morning.” Killian didn’t bother smothering his sigh. Stupid sun. “Yes. Early. The birds are just waking. Sleep, pretty one.” Thinking he’d actually fallen back asleep, Killian proceeded with his ruminations. “You’re not going to do it, are you?” It wasn’t an accusation, it was a question, and one for which Colton knew the answer. “I said I would consider your request and I am. I didn’t say I would do it fast.” “Why won’t you?” “Why are you rushing to death with your arms outstretched? Let me ask you this, Colton—do you believe in second chances?” “Yeah. I guess. Everyone deserves one.” “Then why won’t you give yourself one?” Colton jiggled off his restraining leg. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re a coward, Colton Décarie. You’re going straight for the easy path instead of the hard one, the second chance one.” “You don’t know anything about me! I am not a coward.” “Oh yeah? What have you done to fix your life? You say you can’t bear to hunt again and yet you do it. And I know you do it a lot. I saw your wolf, Colton. Have you seen yourself? Were you always half black like that? I’ll bet not. You’re getting all corrupted—don’t deny it.” Mad, Colton sat up. “I know! Don’t you think I know? I told you that the very first day.” Crap. He had, hadn’t he? I don’t want to let it get to that… Why hadn’t he taken that into consideration? Why? “Quit hunting. Stay in town—there’s no one here to hunt. You’ve beaten us into submission. We don’t hunt.” Almost maniacal, Colton laughed. It was not a nice sound. “Don’t you think I want to? Huh?” The laughter went on. “They won’t let me.” Oh ho! A clue. The mystery unfolds. Won’t let him? “Who are they?” “You know who.” By the light of the Lovely Moon! Colton was forced to hunt endlessly? Killian’s breath was stuck somehow, and he could scarce say it. It was unimaginable and wholly delightful to a sick part of his wolfen mind. “Your Council?” Colton’s answer was not made of words, only a devastated expression. “I don’t understand this,” Killian breathed, totally stunned. “How can they force you? You’re a free man, aren’t you? They’ve enslaved you? They actually came to you and said ‘Hunt or else’?” Now Colton practically laughed in his face. “You’re a werewolf, Killian. For the love of—surely you understand cunning and intrigue? What’s the best way to get someone to do what you want without saying anything at all?” The list was long and exhaustive. Killian preferred using sex. Werewolves specialized in cunning and intrigue, and Killian had only to find the thing that applied to shifters and werekind alike —didn’t take long. “Threaten that which is most valuable to your target.” “Works well, doesn’t it?” No slouch in the intrigue department himself, Killian’s mind whirled, all the pieces clicking into place like the last ones in a big puzzle. It was too diabolical, a masterful plot worthy of werewolves and unworthy of shifters. The last piece went into the puzzle with a snap. “Who killed your wife, Colton?” he whispered. The question made him wince. “Someone who couldn’t kill me.” “Holy shit! You can’t be serious. They wouldn’t.” “If they feared me enough, wouldn’t they?” Okay, I no longer like this mystery. Was there anything left in his world that made sense anymore? First it was him sleeping with the enemy and now it was shifters killing women to forward their schemes. Sounded like something his mother would dream up, not the shifter governing body. Still, a thing or two didn’t make sense. “Why would they kill her, then? Take too much from a man and you make him someone with nothing to lose—the most dangerous kind.”

“I believe it was an accident. It was meant to be a threat, not an execution. She was just…fragile.” “I’m sorry, Colton. Truly. Even our kind seldom stoops that low, killing a shifter’s wife because you’re too weak or cowardly to go after what you really want. Unless you’ve been successful with killing the shifter. Then the wife’s fair game.” “You sick bastards.” “I was referring to hunters, not the rest of us.” “So now you understand? If I die in the line of duty, so to speak, they’ll leave the rest of my family alone, all those people I love. I’ll die honorably, bringing no shame to my family and freeing them at the same time. I’ll take the shadow with me.” Speechless. Killian was speechless. Stupid shifter. He did understand, oh how he understood. Poor Colton. “I have one last question.” “Yeah? Why do you have to know everything? You take and take and take. Why must you take everything?” “Makes up for the not-hunting. Gotta occupy myself somehow.” “Well, Mr. Killing Frost, ask away. You’ve already stolen all my secrets. What’s left?” It was the most important question of all, yet Colton seemed unaware of it. “Why? Why do they fear you that much?” Startled by the question, he turned to him. “Because I am…talented, and they don’t like it, don’t like people with power greater than theirs. Sometimes the blood comes together just right and…well, someone like me is born. We’re having a bit of a…civil war right now. Most of the Council is corrupt, maybe all of them. And I am a wild card. Better they take me out of the deck before I can trump their plans.” “Civil war? Really?” As far as exciting news went, this was…exciting! “That’s a bit of an overstatement, but things are unsettled right now. Nothing for you wolves to worry about.” Now there was a big, fat lie if he ever heard one. Shifters. Crappy liars, every one of them. And this was a room of truth. Or maybe, and it was likely, Colton believed it. He did have other things on his mind. “Will you do it? Please, Killian? Will you give me an honorable way out? I can’t do it myself. I won’t shame my family.” There was too much information and his head was spinning again. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, pretty one. I need more time. I’m not saying no, okay?” “How long are you going to torture me with the wondering before you give me your answer?” “Don’t be impatient, Blondie. When I know I’ll tell you. And I apologize sincerely for calling you a coward.” “Wow,” he said with fake awe. “Did that hurt? Apologizing?” “Might later. Right now I’m trying to think if I’ve ever been wrong before.” “You arrogant bastard.” “Yep! And you hate me.” “You are wicked, utterly despicable. My mother always warned me to watch out for werewolves. Silly me. I thought she meant watch my back for sharp teeth. You? I never saw you coming at all.” “Can’t fault your observations, and I appreciate the compliment.” Colton gave him a rather disarming smile. “But I think maybe I don’t hate you anymore. I just dislike you now.” “Wow,” he mused. “Did that hurt?” “Yes, Killian.” Sunlight was positively pressing against the curtains now, trying to get in, wanting to ruin everything. “Will you fall back to sleep with me, pretty one?” “No. I can’t.” Of course, Colton would flee. “You don’t need to run away. It’s the middle of the fucking day. You don’t need to go out in that.” He smiled over at the other man. “You can stay here with me.” When he gave out smiles, Colton gave them wholeheartedly. No wonder they were rare. “We can’t get caught like this.” “I know. It really galls me to have to hide it, like it was something dirty.” “It is dirty.” “Cram it, shifter boy. There is no shame between lovers. I told you that.” Colton smirked. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not ashamed of that. I was referring to our basic natures. Light and dark, good versus evil and all that. And maybe…maybe your dirty mind.” Ah—well. It was dirty. “Fine. Sneak off in your nasty sunshine, then. But at least have a shower first. You smell like me. You smell like all those nasty sex things I did to you. Just think what would happen if you crossed paths with another shifter.” He was teasing, but it was true. Very dangerous. “I suppose.” “Let me wash you.” “Ha! No! Pleasure yourself. I’m not shifting again for your enjoyment.” “Out of bracelets?” Killian said sweetly. “Like I need one.” “You’re crabby when you don’t get enough sleep.” Irked, Colton gave him a dirty look. “Well, you kept me up all night, so quit whining. Really hate whiners.” “And I hate your smart mouth. I should wash that out with soap.” “Never worked for my dad and won’t work for you. I’ve developed a taste for it.” “Come here, Colton Décarie. I knew I should have beaten you!” Killian reached for him, but he was faster and closer to the edge of the bed. When he heard the water running in the shower, Killian joined him. Stingy bastard wouldn’t let him wash him, either. Nor would he have coffee, eat or be convinced to perform oral sex. Killian had to let him go. Watching Colton cover that beautiful body with his crumpled suit was almost painful, a sin against him he had to endure, slouched in his robe. At the inside of the garage door, he finally remembered that stupid quote. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Wasn’t it, though? Colton, at least, wasn’t a total asshole and kissed him goodbye. Of his own free will. “You sure you’ll consider it? I want you to be the one.” “And you call me wicked!” “Please? I will beg. I already gave you all my pride, but I know you like it when I beg.” “True. I really like it.” Colton gave him one last smile. “I want you to be the one.” That smile spread and he said jokingly, “Unless, that is, you can figure out some other crazy solution for me?” A solution? There was one, of course. Killian had seen it immediately, but it was beyond a shifter’s comprehension, stupid, naïve do-gooders. What the situation needed was a werewolf’s solution. Was there a higher purpose in their bizarre relationship? As a werewolf, he was not given to believing in a higher power, an omniscient god, and shifters already swore werewolves had no souls. Yet there was a part of him that couldn’t help but wonder, as it seemed the hand of fate had been seriously interfering lately. Bella Luna certainly was interfering, and Bella Luna often expected some sort of reciprocity for her gifts. The solution was so simple. Colton would have to dig deep to embrace it. Very deep. Killian cocked his head and looked Colton in the eye, took his measure, checking if he had it in him. Remembrance of that tawny wolf with its black legs and dark flames answered him. “I do have a solution for you, Colton Décarie.” Such disbelief. “Sure. You’re just stalling, Mr. Frost.” “I’ve never lied to you and I’m not lying now.” “Oh? What is this magical solution of yours, my silver-furred one?” Killian Frost smiled his wickedest smile and stuck his hand in his pocket. When he pulled the remnant of red ribbon from that pouch, it dangled most enticingly, catching his attention for a second. The shiny satin, red as blood, caught Colton’s eye too. “Give me one night in my bed and I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Eleven

Colton’s Red Ribbon Harsh sunlight reflecting off the asphalt burned Colton Décarie’s eyes as he drove, the exhaustion so heavy in his bones he just wanted to throw himself on the sand and let the elements take him. As far as ways to die went, it would be pretty good, succumbing to exposure and dehydration. Much nicer than having some godforsaken, filthy, ugly, fucking werewolf get you. But the thirst! Dying of thirst would suck. His mouth was parched and dry already, and he had nothing to drink. Dying of it?—maybe not so good after all. The desert went on forever. Who knew Nevada was so big? Nice place to visit, but he never wanted to see it again. An old song, one from before his time, kept popping into his head and he couldn’t get it out, it played over and over—in stereophonic. Been through the desert on a horse with no name… He’d have to change up the words a bit to make it more fitting. Been through the desert slayin’ werewolves out huntin’… Or! How ab out…b een through the desert drivin’ a dead man’s car…? Nah. Just didn’t convey enough suffering, and Colton was suffering. Blood had crusted his dirty shirt to his hip. He’d tucked it in as padding so it wouldn’t rub against the waistband of his jeans, but then he’d moved too much and the gouges had opened up again, soaking the shirt and jeans to below the back pocket. Spared the seat, though, that was good. The claws had raked him completely, shoulder to hip, one long, excruciating swipe, breaking bones and gutting his shifted mountain lion in one fell swoop.

Three additional shifts had been required to patch up the mess, and that was after the two it took to kill the thing. In a rage, he’d killed it slowly, painfully and bit by bit by bit. All sense of mercy had abandoned him. It had shown none; why should it be the recipient of any? If he wanted to fix up the half-healed, tender red scratches completely, he’d need to shift again, and the very idea of doing it sent a spasm of pain through his body and into his long bones. A single thought, a lick of deepest red—best to quit thinking about it, then. A town on the way, a garage, a corner store, three or four houses and ten mangy dogs yielded up some water, at least, making everything so much easier to endure. His appearance even made the town’s resident bully think twice and go back to whatever bit of uselessness he’d been working on. Dirty, hair matted, bloody, barefooted and cranky as hell made his six-foot-three seem so much bigger. Colton wouldn’t have minded a fight, either. A nice, clean fist-fight with a pure-blooded human had a certain appeal. Alas, no takers. The middle-aged lady at the register didn’t like his looks, either, and examined his crumpled bills for bloodstains. Missed ’em all! No longer thirsty, he drove for another hour. In the middle of nowhere, he had to pull over and get out, stretch his sore body and admire the blazing sun. Soon he would fall asleep at the wheel and, with his luck, he’d cream into a car full of kids or old ladies on their way to a fiftieth reunion or something, so he couldn’t look for death there. If only stupid Killian…! Yeah right, if only. Stupid werewolf! Wouldn’t kill him, hadn’t given him an answer yet, he was still considering his request, but the answer would be no. Colton knew it. Pride—it was pride. Killian Frost’s pride wouldn’t let him do it. He prided himself on never having hunted, and that was all there was to it. What kind of werewolf didn’t want to kill a shifter? Made no sense. Driving once more and trying to obey the speed limit, he found himself thinking about the charismatic werewolf yet again. It was the only thing that had the power to shut out all other thoughts, even trumped pain and misery. Pathetic thing he was, he simply couldn’t give it up, the remembering, the reliving of that night in his mind. Not even shame could stop it. Seductive whispers replaced the song in his head… Accept me and relax. Let me in and let your b ody enjoy it, don’t fight it. I will give you more, Blondie. Slowly. I promise… God! And he had let him in and had begged for it over and over again. Yes, pretty one, you are mine. Colton knew he still was. Leaving his house, arriving at his own, going through the motions of living, he’d tried to escape it, of course he had, but the inescapable fact was he still belonged to Killian Frost. They’d not spoken since Killian had opened his fingers and set the silky remnant of red ribbon in his palm and kissed him goodbye. There’d not been much opportunity. Colton had his orders. A pull-in ahead caught his eye. It was so shameful…but he couldn’t help it. Stopping the car in the deserted lot, he got out and opened the back door so he wouldn’t reopen scabbing wounds by reaching over the seat. He picked through his almost empty pack on the back seat. Thinking it might be prudent to avoid any extra scrutiny, he put on the sandals he found at the bottom and from the inside pouch retrieved his drug of choice. The red ribbon was still shiny and looked like liquid blood in the sun and against his white skin. Fingering it, letting the sensitive pad of his thumb slide along that soft surface, Colton closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment alone with his addiction. Not wanting to give it up—it was all he had—he set it on his thigh as he drove the rest of the way home, not touching it or anything, just grasping at the freakish happiness of knowing it was there. For this behavior alone, he should kill himself. But he wouldn’t. He would accept his shame and not give it to his family by taking his own life. Dying while doing his duty was the only option available. It would be an honorable death. A good son and brother, a loving husband, a trustworthy ally, a fine shifter, he’d been them all and he deserved nothing less. If it weren’t for the sword hanging over his head, Colton wouldn’t actually want to die. If he didn’t have to hunt anymore, he might be able to dust himself off, pick up a thread from his unraveled life and move on. Killian had shown him that much was possible, at least. Stupid werewolf! Colton hadn’t known what to expect from the big wolf. He’d anticipated and prepared for the worst. Expected to be…brutalized and humiliated and raped and tortured—he had a fine imagination. Not one tiny bit of him had expected what he got, and therein lay the evilness of it all. Killian had seduced him instead, made him want him and made him like it—beg for it! And it had been so fucking incredible. Those hands! Had any werewolf ever had more wicked hands? Or mouth? Being kissed by Killian Frost was…goddamn wonderful. The torture! Killian had surely tortured him, the touching, the fondling, the arousing—it was torture. Then having him give him what he begged for—oh God. It had been much nicer the second time. The first time he’d been so afraid. Killian had been so patient and so patiently evil, rousing him and stroking him and taking him to a place he’d never expected to go, but he’d been a touch nasty at the end. So many sensations. It had hurt then, but he’d climaxed anyway. Evil werewolf. The second time had been different. Killian had made love to him instead and they climaxed together, endless waves of it, kissing and reveling in the pleasure of the act. At least he hadn’t cried that time. So humiliating. Yet…Killian truly hadn’t seemed to mind. Probably planned it that way. Mr. Frost was a very dangerous creature. And Colton wanted to be with him again. Wanted to kneel at Killian’s feet with his cock in his mouth and his big fingers knotted in his hair, wanted to please his master and be rewarded with kisses. Was it so horrible of him? Nobody would ever know except for Killian, and Colton believed him when he said there was no shame between lovers. He’d given his oath. Then again… he was a werewolf… His tired eyes burned with fatigue when he made it back to the city. Somebody might have scrubbed them with sandpaper—evil fairies, perhaps. It was a tossup whether he’d make it into the shower first, or fall into a coma on his bed…the couch, the floor. He had no shame left; he could sleep in his own filth. Arriving in his neighborhood was bliss—almost home. Even now, empty with half its life force missing and lost forever, it was still home. For a shifter, Colton had terrible senses. Most shifters could sense the presence of werewolves miles away and their own kind nearly as far. Even the presence of pure-bloods didn’t escape their attention. Not him. Might notice them a few blocks away, might not. Depended on whether he was rested or not, and if his mind was otherwise occupied. There was something wrong with his radar. Mind you, he could shift instantly, repeatedly, and into very nasty things, and…he had that other gift as well. Not entirely useless, then. It wasn’t until he reached the corner of his street and the main road that he finally caught that elusive prickle of magic in the air. Someone was at his house. Uninvited and unknown, the scent of an unfamiliar aura—and that someone would already have sensed him. Utterly startled, Colton took his foot off the accelerator because all the blood was draining from his head. Shit! They couldn’t possibly want to send him somewhere else! Not now. He couldn’t! God, he was half dead as it was. Without considering it for a second, he pulled into the nearest drive, turned around and went the other direction. They would follow—it was just matter of time. Before he knew what he was doing, Colton was pulling into the underground parking lot at the mall. He hated being underground. Too smothering, but at least it was dark. He felt more hidden, and maybe he could sleep for half an hour. The air smelled strongly of exhaust fumes, raw gasoline and stale popcorn but nothing else—yet. Thirst grabbed him with its demanding fingers, but he couldn’t go into a public place in his condition and he couldn’t make it anywhere else. The road had come to a dead end. Bleakness was all the future had in store for him. It was the end. No more! There were public phones near the elevator. Fishing through his pocket, he found a couple of quarters amongst the pennies and gave one a twirl. Heads, he would phone Killian Frost and ask for his answer, and tails, he would accept the fact that Mr. Killing Frost preferred to kill in an entirely different fashion and wouldn’t do the real thing. Someone else—he’d find someone else. The world was a big place. The coin fell. Heads. Shit. He’d been hoping for tails, not sure he could handle hearing Killian’s beautiful voice again. It was a very long distance to the battered relic which insisted on being operational. Ready or not, the call was answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Oh God! Killian’s voice was better than he remembered, black velvet, even with the touch of suspicion in it. Colton let out his breath in a long sigh. “Killian?” A pause, then, “Hello, Blondie.” Wishing the vandalized phone would just electrocute him to death, Colton closed his eyes and got on with it. “Are you alone?” Another pause. “Yes.” Swallowing without any spit was a worthless exercise, but his voice felt ready to break. “I need your answer,” he said under his breath since it was a public place. “Yes or no. Right now.” “Hardly a thing to be discussed over the telephone, pretty one. Where are you?” “Huh? I’m at the mall. What’s it matter?” Holding the phone up to his ear took considerable effort. “Tell me now. Yes or no. I can’t wait anymore.” “Come here.” So far! Too far. “Can’t.” “Can’t or won’t?” “Can’t,” he answered. Why did this have to be so hard? “Not safe.” On the other end, Colton heard a sharp intake of breath. “Are you alone?” “For now.” It was impossible to keep his eyes open any longer. “I have to go now,” he whispered, then sadly, “goodbye, Killian.” And he hung up the phone. Maybe mall security would find him first, or maybe not. He’d discover it in time. The red ribbon had fallen halfway to the floor when he’d gotten out, but a kink caught the harsh fluorescent light and shone darkly—black licorice. With one last caress against his lips, Colton stuffed it carelessly into his front pocket and got in, falling asleep sitting straight up in the seat. Someone was coming. He must be ready.

Chapter Twelve

Werewolf! Waking in a panic, Colton jerked upright on the seat and received a ripping, tearing pain in his side for his efforts. With his heart racing at maximum speed, his arms flung up against the steering wheel, gripping tightly, readying for violence. Shift! Harsh, numbing lights accosted him first, followed by the scent of burning sulfur and smoking matches, just a faint whiff mixed with an underlying musky scent—a familiar scent. The owner of the inexplicably tasty, burnt smell was opening the door. Killian Frost’s huge body filled his closest exit. “You stink,” he said in greeting. Recognizing Killian as the werewolf sensed in his dreams didn’t calm him in the least. In fact, his heart sputtered, unable to beat faster. “Go away!”

“Shut up, stinky one, and get in my car.” “No!” “Now’s not a good time to be a defiant little bastard,” he warned. “Get in the fucking car.” The wolf’s method of helping him hurt considerably. It was only steps to Killian’s waiting car, stopped as it was right in front of his, blocking it and hiding it from view. A second later, he was shoved in the back. “Stay down,” he was ordered, and the door shut firmly against his not-quiteretracted feet. A couple of electronic beeps later, Killian had locked the dead man’s car, and the delicious, burning smell arrived in the car with him. Staying down took no effort at all. In fact, it was impossibly easy. Afternoon sunshine stabbed at him through the windows, but other than that, the journey was pleasant, just tiny bits of redhot pain intermingled with burning in his bones and acid on his tongue. Now he’d have to get used to Killian Frost all over again. Inside Killian’s garage, the oh-so-helpful hands were pulling him out by the feet. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, only it sounded like a croak. “It fucking hurts!” “Then get yourself out.” Ahhhh…Mr. Frost. Big meanie. Crawling out backward was unpleasant, but not nearly as awful as Killian’s big hands pulling on his hip. Standing up brought him face to face with his… enemy. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.” “Safest place for you. Nobody’d ever think to look for you here.” Wouldn’t they? Probably not. Maybe the nasty werewolf had a point. Why did he have to be so fucking clever? “You smell like blood.” Hmmm…blood. “Feel free to let it get to you.” “Forget trying to provoke me, Blondie. I’m tougher than you.” “You sure?” Colton said seductively as he could manage. “Very taaasttty.” Ungracefully, he stepped forward. “Isn’t it delicious? Do you taste it on your tongue? Does it make you hot?” It was working—Killian’s breath was coming faster, his nostrils flaring. “Do you want a taste?” A big hand shot up and curled itself around his neck. “I will have a taste of you, all right, my pretty one. Come here.” Evil personified, nasty werewolf put his face an inch from his. “Give me your mouth.” Colton’s knees threatened to buckle. No! Killian kissed him. Not deeply—he really did stink—but he pressed his hot red lips to his and instantly lit his whole body on fire. Such burning! It would kill him, this mixed flame, half composed of his shifter blood seeking to bite and the other half his human blood coursing with desire. When the fire mellowed to hot embers, he was on the cement floor. “Finished?” “Yes.” “Then get your sorry ass off my floor and follow me.” Alone, he couldn’t manage. Killian gave him another one of his special helping hands, ones that continued to help him along by means of cruel dragging into another room that smelled strangely soapy. A laundry room? Probably a good place to kill someone—it had a drain in the floor. “Take off those filthy clothes.” What? Surely he wasn’t interested in that? If he wanted his rank, half-dead body, he could have it. Disgusting, though—even for a werewolf. “I don’t think I can.” Colton didn’t like Killian’s dirty look. “Stuck to me,” he explained. They were too. Killian unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. For a second, some parts of him weren’t as dead as the rest of him—mercifully, Killian didn’t say anything. More humiliation. But then… “What’s this?” Killian asked with a new and…decidedly interested tone. Okay—more humiliation. It was that damned ribbon. “Um…” What could he say? “Why is this in your pocket?” “I…ah…um…” “Never mind, Blondie. We’ll discuss it later.” Colton didn’t want to discuss it later. Or ever. Hopefully, Killian would kill him first. But Killian always meant what he said. Stiff with blood, full of sand and thoroughly disgusting, the pants came off, practically able to stand by themselves, and went straight into the washing machine. The shirt, as suspected, was glued tight, cotton body-wallpaper. The material ripped loudly from the neck down under Killian’s strong hands. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he breathed in horror. Absurd though it was, Colton had the insane urge to cover himself, only he didn’t have enough arms. Was he so vain? “What the fuck did this to you?” Really! He had to ask? “Three guesses.” The claw marks were obvious—maybe Killian just couldn’t wrap his head around it? In the small, cool room, Colton was getting chilled with the exhaustion coming to claim him once again. The shirt was stuck only to one spot, the worst, unhealed part where the claw had hooked into thick hip bone and taken out an entire chunk. Would be nothing to rip it off— “Why the hell don’t you shift, you idiot?” Killian was truly horrified. If Colton hadn’t already believed it, the man’s face was all the proof he ever needed that Killian Frost had never hunted. “Can’t.” “What?” “Just can’t. Okay?” Tears were prickling his eyes now. Christ, but he was weak, a weak man and a sorry excuse for a shifter. “Just can’t take it again, okay?” It was a masterful effort and he didn’t sob the words out. “But, Colton—” “I can’t. It took three shifts just to stay alive and get to this point. And in the last few days I’ve maybe shifted fifteen or more times. I just can’t, okay?” “Fifteen?” “Killian…shhh. I’m so tired. Please.” Those pretty eyes of Killian’s met his pleading ones. Such a dark, dark blue, the pupil was almost lost in the depths of the unknowable sea. Such lovely eyes. “Please, Killian.” It was okay—Killian liked to make him beg. “Please set me free.” The eyes told him no. Stupid werewolf! “No fun killing a weak and wounded animal,” he finally answered. “Come. Shower first and then sleep.” Arguing was too much work. Killian stuffed him in the shower next to the laundry room, torn shirt and all. The fabric worked loose under the hot water and fell to the floor of the stall in a wet, bloody heap. “Wash your hair,” Killian ordered from his perch on the toilet seat. It was impossibly difficult with his arms lacking any semblance of coordination. At least soap wouldn’t get in his eyes because they couldn’t stay open. Was it possible to fall asleep in a shower? The space was so confining. Must get out! “Wash the rest of you,” Killian said. Killian must have telepathy or something—but Colton did it, on autopilot. Soap stung raw wounds. Burned. “Can I get out now?” he begged. “You smell better. Come.” A trickle of watery blood flowed down his leg. “I’m bleeding.” “I know. Use this.” A hand towel came over the top of the enclosure and landed perfectly on his head. It was a small seeping tear. Blotting it with the hand towel stopped it completely, and Colton left it in the heap with the ruined shirt. To make his humiliation complete, Killian dried him, taped a large, thick square of gauze to his hip and stuffed him into a thin, silky black robe that surely made him look like one of those fictional monsters—a vampire, bloodless and dead. Then Killian combed his hair for him because he was pitiful and couldn’t hold the comb. “Now. One last thing, my pretty one.” That sounded ominous… “Since you like it so much…” Killian flicked the red ribbon out of his pocket and had it hooked around his neck like a noose in seconds. With a sharp tug—so tight!—he tied it into a familiar knot and let the loose ends dangle down the back. There was no room for it, but Killian slid a thick finger under the ribbon, smiled wickedly and said, “Mine.” It wasn’t like he was fighting it or anything, for Colton already knew it himself. So he gave it up. “Yes, Killian.” And knowing it also, Killian took him up the stairs, down the long and forbidding hallway into his bedroom and closed the door firmly behind them.

Chapter Thirteen

A nightmare woke Colton, one so bad it worked its way beneath the exhaustion and drove him mercilessly toward consciousness. The driving terror had pushed his sleeping body right out of the bed and reality came to him as he crouched on the floor panting, hands curled into claws and teeth bared.

“Settle down, Blondie. You’re safe.” Unperturbed, Killian was eyeing him over the top edge of his laptop where it sat across his knees. He was on the loveseat with a pile of papers. “Safe?” he repeated numbly. “Yes. Now crawl back into bed and go to sleep.” “Thirsty,” he said. His mouth was bone dry and tasted like his tongue had died in there. Disentangling himself from his work, Killian set everything aside and came his way. Such feline grace. Shoulda been a shifter instead of a stinking, godforsaken werewolf. “Bed.” His dad used to tuck him in like that when he was five. Made him want to bite Killian’s hand. Then Killian handed him a bottled orange juice so cold it frostbit his fingers. Yuck. Food. Horrible! “Drink it,” Killian snapped. “Not one word out of that smart mouth.” It was one of those things that was best gotten over with real fast, like taking disgusting medicine. Swallow and be done with it. Oddly, it went down easy, despite tasting like battery acid. The juice curdled coldly in his empty belly. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something rude, but a wave of sleepiness hit him and began its relentless pull, taking him under. His next encounter with reality was easier, no panting on the floor like a mad dog. This time Killian was in bed with him, sitting up against the pillows and playing an annoying beeping game on some handheld device that glowed like an alien spaceship. As Colton watched, an evil laugh came over the speaker and it was game over. “Hmpf,” he snorted. “Got something to say, smartass?” “No, Killian.” “Then quit smirking and go back to sleep. I’m busy here.” “Uh-huh. Real busy. How hard it must be getting past level one.” For some reason, the notion of Killian Frost, wickedest of all werewolves, evil mastermind and sexual tormentor extreme, sucking at video games was inexplicably funny. In his fatigued and slightly unhinged state, Colton couldn’t prevent the ensuing laughter and stuffed his face into the pillow when it became impossible to hold it in. It hurt to laugh, God it hurt. “Are you quite certain you didn’t escape from some nut house somewhere? If you weren’t in such a sorry state, I’d teach you a lesson in manners.” “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he snorted, eyes watering. “Oh damn, that hurt.” Abandoning his losing pastime to the nightstand, Killian rolled on his side to face him, features unreadable in the dim light from a single lamp. “You gonna stay awake for a while now?” “I think so.” Colton didn’t like the new calculating tone and he never, ever knew what to expect from him in advance. Killian was utterly unpredictable and totally confusing. A prickle of fear slid underneath the silky material of his borrowed robe and caressed his spine. “Are you mad at me?” Sounded like a kid again, small and weak. “Yes, I am.” For some reason the knowledge hurt. “You shouldn’t have brought me here, I—” A big hand clamped over his mouth. “Shut up.” Killian’s bark was truly as bad as his bite. Oh, b ut his touch… “Let me explain to you how things are going to be. I’m going to tell you what to do and you are going to obey, starting as soon as I move my hand. Got that?” Instead of removing his hand abruptly, Killian slid it off slowly, pausing to caress his bottom lip with his thumb. The contact, so sensual and cruel at the same time, caught him unawares, eliciting a startled gasp. Hearing it, Killian did it again, this time moving his thumb in closer to grate against his bottom teeth, the taste of salt, musky male and wood smoke flooding Colton’s mouth. Drawn to the taste, needing to taste, Colton licked the pad with the tip of his tongue. This time Killian was the one to gasp. Saliva filled his mouth. A quickening—of breath and pulse and loins. Pain followed swiftly in his damaged hip and groin. Did he whimper? Make a sound? “Pretty one,” Killian said with a sigh. “Stop that.” “Killian…” “No.” It was just as well…but the rejection stung. Then again, what was he to Killian? “Listen to me. Are you listening?” “Yes, Killian.” “You will come downstairs with me now. And this time you will eat whether you are hungry or not and whether you like it or not.” Eat? He didn’t want any disgusting food. Everything tasted like death. “Are we clear on that? Don’t make that face to me, Blondie.” “I will eat.” Killian doubted him. True enough—he doubted he could do it himself. “And when you have eaten and your belly is full and you no longer look like a corpse, then you and I are going to have a little chat.” Lovely…a chat. I don’t want to think and I don’t want to talk. “Actually, it won’t really be a chat. It will be more like an interview. I will ask you questions and you will answer me.” “I will?” Oh! Damn—said it out loud. “Yes.” “I don’t think I like that idea.” “You’ll notice I didn’t ask your opinion?” Frosty eyes, yes, Killian had very cold eyes when he wanted. “Yes, Killian.” “And when I’m done? And it will be long after you’re done, I’m sure, then you and I will go into the living room and you will shift for me.” Oh God. The very idea hurt. No! It was all red fucking hot! A tendril of that red-hot flame licked at him, up his spine and then back down the front, down the long, red claw marks and ending up at the bottom, sparking brilliantly in that slowly knitting-together bone. Killian’s bedroom disappeared—went somewhere far, far away, beyond sight and memory. Reality came back in a rush, an unpleasant, dizzy rush giving him a headache. “What the hell happened to you?” Killian was asking, likely had asked more than once judging by the tone. Blood flowed again and the headache eased. “I tasted death,” he whispered. “I gathered that.” “My own.” “Shit, Colton,” he snapped. At least the werewolf let him catch his breath, and while he did, his big fingers found his temple and rubbed in hard, soothing circles. “Why didn’t you embrace it? You want to die—why didn’t you just let go?” So funny. “As if I’d let one of them have me.” “You got stubborn and defiant.” “Well…they didn’t know how to break me of it.” Colton caught the flash of white teeth when Killian smiled. “But I do. Don’t I, my pretty one?” Another sigh. He couldn’t help it. “Yes, Killian.” “Then let’s skip the lesson tonight. Come down and eat. I’m hungry myself.” Eating was not quite as bad as Colton expected. The first few bites made him gag and want to puke, but after he forced them down, his body took over and demanded more. After the first plateful, it even began to taste like lasagna, not dead things found under a log or rotting in the sun. It was weird drinking coffee in the middle of the night, even though he’d been living solely in the night for weeks. A stale cinnamon bun warmed in the microwave was still the best one he’d ever tasted, the hot goo in the middle so delicious—molten sugar lava. “Humans make the best chefs,” Killian said, stuffing the last bite in his mouth. “I love that woman, the baker who makes these.” “Uh-huh.” A werewolf appreciating a human? “Truly.” “Right.” “I’d do her too, but I’m afraid of damaging her. She’s maybe five-foot-nothing. Hate to get no more cinnamon buns.” “Okay—enough sharing. Thank you.” “Well, she flirts with me. Her fault.” Then Killian gave him a nice smile. “But I’d much rather do you.” “I don’t think I’m quite up to it yet, but it’s not like I could stop you.” “I’m not a rapist. And that’s why you’re going to shift for me after our little chat.” “I am not.” “Don’t get all defiant and stubborn on me. You will. You’re not coming back into my bed with the marks of some other werewolf all over you.” Trust Killian to say the one bloody thing that could convince him. “Jealous?” “Yes. You are mine.” When he finished his dessert, Killian gestured him to the living room, the last place he wanted to go. Didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to remember. It was a tossup—which was worse? Talking or shifting? Contemplating the worst of two choices went right out of his head when Killian touched him there—that haunting red ribbon. His eyelids fluttered shut. “Mine. All mine,” he whispered. “Give me your mouth, pretty one. Will you taste like cinnamon now, or just Colton?” Kissing Killian made his legs weak. Honest-to-God weak, like he was some teenaged girl. Made his head spin too, but that was enjoyable. His mouth was always so hot and demanding and tasting of smoke and promising sex. It was impossible not to kiss him back, not to revel in it, not to share tongues. And Killian didn’t rush him, didn’t take himself away for a long time, simply kissed him until he grew breathless. And hot! Everywhere, not just between the legs. Getting hard hurt. The thin robe hid nothing. Big fingers encircled him and stroked through the satin, transferring all the heat. The bolt of pleasure hit hard and would have made him gasp, but for the sting it also caused. His mouth gave up a grunt of pain instead. Evil Killian laughed. “Shift and get rid of those claw marks and I will take you to bed. Otherwise—” “I hate you!” Parting the robe, Killian touched him flesh to flesh. “But you want me.” Hands roved lower, squeezing, fondling deeper between his legs. “I want to fuck you, pretty one.” Emphasizing his

point, Killian nudged a knee between his legs and spread them, the pressure shockingly arousing. “I will have you, you know I will. You will give it all up to me. Now come answer my questions.” “Killian, I—” An icy cold look was his reply. “I don’t want to remember. Please.” “I don’t want every detail…” his icy cold features turned stern, “…but I want whatever that secret is you’re hiding from me.” The pain went straight through his heart this time. No mercy for the undeserving. “It’s not a secret.” “You’re trying pretty hard to hide it from yourself.” He wasn’t. No! It never left his consciousness. Shame never did. It lurked and waited for you in the shadows—No—it was your shadow, going with you everywhere. Killian hooked a finger under the red ribbon and tugged. “We’ll start with this, my pretty. You will tell me why this was in your pocket.” Quick, and hard, Killian kissed him again and then finished it with a lick of his bottom lip before dragging him to the couch. Total defiance was not possible. Already his lips were unsealing, but he would confess all backward and get to the red ribbon in his pocket at the end. By then he would have the nerve— there were worse things. Remembering would shatter what was left of his quickly and poorly built walls. He’d save the worst confession for the last. Speaking fast—he was cold and so full his stomach felt stretched—he began, not at the very beginning, but a reasonable starting-off point. “Las Vegas. I went to Las Vegas. What an awful place. You werewolves must like it.” “Most do. Why were you there?” “You know they have endless conventions there? Everything imaginable. Even hunting conventions, or so I understand. People go missing there all the time.” “Yeah? It’s not always us, you know.” “I know. And sometimes it is. You can lose anything in the desert. It goes on forever. I was told to go, and I went.” “Alone?” Stupid Killian. Always got to the heart of the matter in seconds. “No. Not alone.” “But you came back alone?” His head was too heavy to hold up and he rested it on the back of the couch. “Yes,” he whispered, ashamed. “I, ah—I have a defect, you see. Not much good on my own.” Well—he finally surprised the clever wolf. Killian raised one brow. “I can’t sense you guys worth crap. Have to be quite close.” “Really?” “I think that’s why I can stand you.” “Ah. I see. Thanks.” “Anyway—because I’m not very good at that, I usually have company. Someone better at it than me, a shifter who can see for miles and miles and…and…” “Sense every disturbance in the Force?” His lip twitched. “Exactly. Yes. Exactly that. There were eight of them, and when they left to hunt, we followed.” “Two against eight? Rather unfair.” “Well…that’s all there was.” Killian’s eyes opened wide. “I meant unfair for you.” “Oh. Not really.” He ignored the raised brow. “They drove most of the way and we had no idea where they were going, it was all just desert and then desert and mountains. It was so barren and desolate and the moon shining over it all. My…companion, he liked it. Nothing to sense out there, you see, no multitudes of humans, just empty quiet space. And eight wolves out a-hunting. We were quite a distance back, this ah…friend of mine is—was very good. Very good. If we’d known the area was a favorite with hikers and campers, we might have hurried to catch them, but… well—we didn’t.” “You were…late?” “Yes,” he admitted. The shame burned. “Might have been four campers, I’m not sure. It was a mess. From there we had to hunt them on foot. I’m much better shifted, not quite so useless.” Killian made an indeterminate sound, catching his attention. “Go on.” “They ran, and we chased. After a while, I had to leave my companion behind. He was too slow. I wouldn’t let them get away—I couldn’t. I chased and ran and ran. They panicked, should have stayed together knowing I was coming, hot on their dirty little tails. I hunted them and picked ’em off one at a time. They were tasty. Two newly captured souls for me and none for them.” “Holy shit.” “The first four were easy—newbies. But they clued-in then, decided to band together. Gave me a bit of competition. Older ones with some experience. Had to shift to repair the nasty little bites of the next two.” “Ah.” “Made me mad. I was tired. All that running around, and then—I’d lost my companion. I was worried, couldn’t sense him anywhere. No big deal, though, can’t sense worth shit anyway. Number seven was not my lucky number, I can tell you.” Killian had a weird expression on his face. “You asked.” “I did. I’m not sure I want to hear about this number seven.” “He was an old one. At least a hundred, probably much more, been stealing years of life from his captive souls. I wonder if he was tutoring the others. And very clever. Like you.” “Um, thanks.” “I was so fucking tired! I’d not had any rest before they sent me to Vegas and shifting was becoming very painful.” It had been so painful, his teeth even ached. This was the part he didn’t want to remember, his weakness. “He fought hard. And he was very good. Mountain lions are very effective killers, all teeth and agility and claws and I shift into one often. They fit the terrain, and I was stupid—I didn’t want to shift into anything bigger, I didn’t want to face the white pain. My mistake. He was the one that gutted me.” Making a grimace, Killian shifted on his seat to get comfortable. “Gutted you?” He closed his eyes. Ahhh…it had hurt! “Right through bone. Right through shifted bone. If he’d swiped the other direction, it could have been fatal, but I guess fortune favors the reckless. I ripped out his neck. That’s what I was doing when he got me, and when he backed off to heal himself, I did the same.” “But shifters don’t heal as fast, do they?” Killian didn’t mean to sound gloating, but there was a touch of it in his words, and Colton tried not to take it personally. “No, we don’t. I think it’s because we’re actually human and we remember the injury, so it…lingers. There’s a cost for every gift, isn’t there?” Was that a guilty glance? Killian gave him the oddest look before he covered it up. “And?” “And I killed him first.” “Just like that?” “No. Not…just like that. No.” “What is it you’re hiding, pretty one?” Damned black eyes, they saw everything. “I cannot tell you.” Now the black eyes were burning a hole in his head, trying to get the knowledge out. “Is that so?” “There are other vows I have taken, Killian Frost, other oaths I have made.” This did not sit well with Killian and he disliked it very much. It was a thing he could not control. A dark light came into his lovely eyes as he considered it. “You do not think I could make you tell me?” That was the thing Colton was hiding. The power of the ribbon. Deep inside him, he wasn’t sure Killian couldn’t. The man had the intelligence, the skills and the cruelty to try finding the path into his truest heart, and he wouldn’t care what he broke along the way. Must leave!—little that he had left, he still had his honor. More rested and no longer falling apart, Colton flung himself off the couch before he could think twice, before he gave the best part of himself away for free—to his enemy. Killian, alas, was just as fast. “Colton!” he yelled, catching a handful of robe at the shoulder. “Stop!” The robe proved stubbornly resistant. Seams held. “Release me!” he snarled, “or you will see me shift, Lycan!” The hand let go, truly it did—but it was a fraction of a second too late. Pain consumed him, the agony of the ripping apart and reassembling into something new enveloped him, his consciousness disappearing into the shift glow along with the coffee table and the metallic knickknacks on display there. The theft was small and spared Killian his life, for he was back far enough the shift didn’t catch him in its hungry web. That scent! So delicious and so arousing, it kept him from attacking. Killian’s scent flooded the house and had soaked into every fiber and hung in the air, all smoky and fragrant. Not that Colton wanted to harm him. He just wanted to escape while he still had the courage. Pretty eyes. So red. “Colton,” the werewolf said softly. Must not harm Killian! The man had done nothing to him that he didn’t allow, might have brought him to his house under duress, but nothing more. Obey the law! Peace shifter, peace werewolf. Oh, b ut those eyes… “I wouldn’t take your honor, Colton.” Wouldn’t you? “It’s the best part of you. I wouldn’t steal that from you.” I think I have lost my honor already, my enemy. I have kept my oaths and that is all. Do you know this, Lycan? “Do you know how many times I have counted on your honor?” The big man came closer—a breath of hot ashes. “The first time I opened my door to you, I counted on it. The first time I kissed you. When I took you to my bed—there has always been honor between us.” On my part, there has. What of you, dark hunter? “And I count on it now,” the black-haired devil said. So patient. Killian was always so patient. Even now, inching closer, offering his hand. “Come to me.”

The ghost of the red ribbon tugged around his neck. I want…I need… Two fingers. Always two to start, testing, teasing and now caressing the short fur on his snout, thrilling him even in this state—so wonderful. More touching, the forehead, an ear, behind the ear, always so slow, so patient. “Shift back, pretty one. If you have secrets that must be kept, then I will have to learn to accept it. It’s true, I don’t like it. You know how much I like to take and take and take.” I do. “But you also know I give. Don’t you?” Ahhhh…I do. Mesmerizing, stroking and hypnotizing, the big hand traveled down his face, his nose, forcing eyes to close. “Shift, my pretty.” A command, a tug on the lost ribbon, and the light scattered into a million tiny specks. White-hot! Killian’s feet appeared from the burning, ripping rush and his gold hair hung down over his hands as he lay crumpled on the floor. A warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Give me your pain, pretty one,” the owner of the feet said. “I’ll take it all, give it to me.” Oh how he wanted to! But the pain was his to bear, his alone. The warm hand soothed his shaking, helped him to his feet and pressed his face into a wide shoulder where Colton took on all his thorns. No tears. It had been a very long time since he cried over physical pain. What was the use? The white slowly faded to red and the red dissolved into the passage of time. Whole. He felt whole again. “At least that got rid of those goddamn claw marks.” Colton’s own fingertips confirmed it was true, they were gone. The ache in his hip was virtually gone and the shift had made him up whole again. “You touched me.” “I did. And it didn’t kill you, did it?” The red eyes had dissolved into midnight blue, went back into the twilight. “Why’d you touch me?” “I wanted you to prove to yourself that you still trusted me.” Got me there. “Wicked werewolf,” he muttered aloud. “Yes, I am. Now, on with your story.” “What?” “I’m getting used to these little fits of yours. Won’t get you off the hook, so don’t give me any shit. Skip what you have to skip and get on with it.” A well-aimed shove sent him into the couch with a padded thud. “And you owe me a fucking coffee table, you idiot.” “It was ugly anyways.” “And expensive. I might take a check.” The big wolf sure had some nerve. Colton couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about when he met Killian’s expectant eyes. “Unlucky number seven,” Killian prodded. “You killed him and then?” Even now, remembering the horror of the fight made him shudder with revulsion. Then the shame set in. Horror was much nicer. “That left number eight.” Understanding immediately, Killian nodded. “It’s my fault.” “You were injured.” “I shouldn’t have been so stupid. So selfish. If I hadn’t been so fucking worried about a little pain, I wouldn’t have been injured. I could have saved him.” “Hindsight sucks, doesn’t it?” Colton snorted. “Does your hindsight get people killed?” That wasn’t very fair, but it felt good to slap him with it. “There was only one left,” Killian said, ever practical. “Surely this other fellow could handle one on his own? I mean, he was a shifter.” “Guess not,” he said, filled with guilt. “His gifts lay elsewhere. He was born to sense and find, Killian.” “And you were born to kill.” No denying it, it was true. Still hurt. “You’d have liked it. I crawled.” Only Killian didn’t look like he was enjoying the idea, particularly. “I crawled and I shifted. Then I crawled some more. By the third shift I didn’t have to use my hands to hold myself together. It was so far. Endless. God, I wish I could learn to fly.” Startled, Killian’s eyes popped open. “You can shift into birds? I thought it was only mammals.” “It is. But there is one who can…” “Ah. This Prince of yours.” “Yes. But I cannot speak of that, either.” “Sure. Kill all the joy. Just when we got to something interesting. Fine. You were holding your guts together and…?” “And I was too late. I tried to save him, I tried to fix him, but he was almost gone…and then…he went.” “And number eight?” “I found the strength within myself to kill him. Slowly.” Killian was eyeing him with that cold calculation again, puzzling something out. “How slowly?” Why did he want to know? Did he want to rub his nose in his shame? “Piece by piece, slowly and slower still when he transformed back to human.” “Is that why you’re almost black now?” Ouch! His words were a fist to the gut. Black! Truth could hurt more than anything. “Yes,” he admitted, head hanging. Must be a pretty bad person if his shame was worse than that owned by a werewolf. “All my failings, brother wolf, laid bare by the shift for all to see. All my shame made into a tangible thing, visible to all. Now do you see why you must kill me?” “I will not.” The answer was an ice cold pronouncement. The very air of the room seemed to still. “That’s your final decision?” “Yes.” “Too bad.” “No, it isn’t. You’re not going to use death to escape punishment.” Why did those words sound so much worse than death? Raising his head, Colton caught the flash of icy eyes. Oh yes. Mr. Killing Frost was back and sparkling on the leaves, all pretty and deadly. When Killian spoke, Colton was sure he saw a glint of red flash in the werewolf’s eyes. “You admit you deserve to be punished?” Oh God! Lightheaded again, he sucked in a deep breath. Punishment? It may not be physically present any longer, but the ribbon was wound tight all the same. Is that why he kept it so close? Did he know? Killian knew how to mete out punishment to those deserving, didn’t he? And yes…he did need punishing. Didn’t he? “Say it, Blondie. Say it out loud!” Truth was easy to speak. “Yes, Killian,” he said, voice small. “I deserve to be punished.” “Get on your knees, pretty one.” The coffee table was gone; there was lots of room. Naked and exposed, Colton slid off the couch and sank to his knees on the Persian carpet. “At my feet,” he ordered. It meant crawling. Then his punishment had already begun? Accepting it as such, Colton crawled, head down, a bad wolf. From his vantage point on the floor, Killian seemed so fucking huge. A god. The goddess of punishment, Nemesis, turned into a man with evil eyes. Oh the agony of waiting! Killian made him wait and his skin crawled in anticipation. “I know you’ve been very bad.” “I admit it.” “The black has spread, pretty one. The flames have spread up your chest now, Colton, gone up your neck, even. Black fur caresses your face, the tendrils sinking deep. Darkness has invaded one eye, given it a black halo. I saw this and I don’t like it.” So wicked! I’m…guilty. “I’m going to take it out of you. All that black. You will give it to me.” On the floor at Killian’s feet, he shook. His shoulders curled in upon themselves, trying to protect him from the truth, the truth of his corruption. “Yes, Killian.” Oh God. How he wanted Killian to take it! “You will suffer, pretty one.” Imagining it, he made a small frightened sound. “I will make you suffer for your guilt. You will beg me to whip you and then…then you will beg me to stop.” I will b eg. “But I will not stop until the black is gone from your face, your eyes and slips back down into your legs again—all four of them. It will take a long time, I expect. It runs deep. Nothing deeper than black ink, not even blood. You will beg and you will plead, but I will not stop until I have it all. Do you understand this?” Lost—he’d lost his voice. “Answer me, shifter!” It was just. Justice demanded he be punished. “Yes, Killian.” “You know I have no pity in me?” Oh yes, he knew. “Yes, Killian.” “I am so without pity, I will grant you no reprieve. No last minute stay.” “It is just,” he agreed. “You will punish me now?” “Ask me for it.” God help him, he did. Without any consideration, his hands were around the man’s bare legs, his head bowed down and his hair brushing his master’s feet. “Please, Killian.” he began. “Please. Punish me!” “It will hurt.” “I want you to hurt me, it’s what I deserve. Please, Killian.” Hadn’t he known it would come to this? Isn’t that why he’d asked the wolf to meet him under the willow that day? Wasn’t it? Giving

it all up again, Colton begged. “Please!” The evil werewolf made him grovel at his feet, begging in whispered pleas for quite some time before wrenching his head up by the hair. “Come, my pretty one. It’s time.”

Chapter Fourteen

Colton found it hard imagining Killian’s bedroom as a place of punishment; he’d known only pleasure there. There would be no pleasure this night. Killian bade him wait on his knees beside the bed, not cold, exactly, but wishing for that long-gone vampire robe nonetheless. Likely, if he survived this, he’d be paying for that too. When the man approached, Colton kept his head down in full submission. A whisper of softness slithered around his neck then pulled taut. Never-ending red ribbon! It was knotted tight, but this time a long tail remained—his first taste of the leash, thrilling and horrifying as it tickled down his spine. Killian wasn’t without pity, after all. He was permitted two minutes in the bathroom, one minute longer than he needed, but he spent the other gazing at the ribbon in the mirror. There was such a thing as justice. When he emerged, Killian deftly snatched up the ribbon tail and wound it around his fist, leaving only a foot or so of lead. The sight of the lead tethered to that big hand aroused him, filling him with longing for something he couldn’t identify, a thing he’d never known. “Is this why the ribbon was in your pocket?” Killian stroked him with his free hand, making his erection grow, summoning a whimper of pleasure from his mouth. “You like it?” The leash pulled and his head jerked. “Yes, Killian,” he admitted. “I…needed something to…hold on to.” “And I hold the other end now.” A sharp tug brought his body up against the larger, hard one and his owner’s hand up behind his neck. Killian kissed him, sweetly and thoroughly, ending it with a snap on the line. “Come with me, Blondie.” It was maddening, that thing around his neck, so tight! And they left his bedroom, not a promising sign, only a few steps down the hall to a closed door. “Same rules apply here as they do in my bedroom. Do you remember them? Tell me.” Like he would forget. They’d been branded into his mind. “Only the truth exists beyond the door. We are not enemies inside that room. Shifting is forbidden, it is lost to me. Inside, I am only Colton,” his breath hitched, “and Colton is yours.” “Very good.” Things got worse instantly. The door was locked. Killian opened it with a key from his pocket and…Colton felt the first stirring of fear. What kind of things lay beyond a locked door? First stairs, then the top room of the house, the one overlooking the street, the window always curtained against curious eyes. Hadn’t those eyes once been his? It was warm and pitchblack—until Killian flicked on the upstairs light and it got…darker. Oh God. It looked to be a room of torture, not punishment. The torture part was contained, only one wall sheathed in thick, darkly stained hardwood to hold the weight of various chains and shackles and things he didn’t understand. The rest of the room was perfectly nice, carpets and chairs and a large bed, even a fireplace, one that lined up directly with the one below it in Killian’s bedroom. The color scheme was quite nice too, dark coffee with cream and black. If Colton could turn his head and avoid looking at that one wall, he might find it an exceptionally tasteful guest room. But no guests would want to come here. Giving him no further time to admire the décor, Killian escorted him to that ugly wall and all the delights and horrors to be found there, which would be which depending entirely on which side of the shackles you stood. And Killian always stood on the one side, didn’t he? It was good to be leashed; it kept Colton from falling on his face. Fear seized Colton by the throat as tightly as the ribbon—what kind of man had a room like this in his house? His arms shivered in fearful anticipation. Behind him, Killian laughed darkly. Snap went the silken ribbon. The big hand went around his neck, and this time there would be no kisses. “I mean to punish you properly, my pretty one.” Colton’s resistance was instinctual and he locked his arm in the down position. One squeeze of Killian’s ruthless fingers on a pressure point unlocked it, and once unlocked it was a short, violent struggle. Just as he was good at tying knots, Killian was good at securing unwilling arms. His aim was fast and true, and Colton’s wrist was imprisoned in a metal manacle in mere seconds. It took Killian’s elbow slammed between his shoulder blades and a foot in the back of the knee to make the other arm submit. Killian bent his elbow painfully, making him accept the metal cuff. True fear invaded Colton’s heart when the shackle clicked shut. From behind him came the sound of soft laughter. “All mine,” Nemesis whispered in his ear. All that was left for his defense was to kick backward, little good it would do him. “I kick much harder,” said the knowledgeable voice. “Come on! Take a shot.” Colton declined and instantly regretted it. Killian chained his feet. The red ribbon hung loosely down his back. Hot hands stroked back up his legs, fondled his buttocks and slid up his spine. Breathing in his ear—and wasn’t it just the slightest bit quickened?—Killian pressed his body tight up against his and rubbed seductively. “Bella Luna! Fuck me, but you’re a wonderful sight. I do lust for you.” The caressing stopped and Killian backed away, smacking him hard on the ass with his bare hand. Each individual fingerprint stung mightily. “I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll give you some time to consider the error of your ways.” It was probably only ten minutes, but it felt an eternity. Spread-eagled and chained, Colton’s arms already ached. The level of the manacles was cleverly set at a height that wouldn’t impede blood flow or make nerves go numb—a level obviously intended for a man of his height and for that man to suffer. Exactly who did Killian bring up here? Cold air kissed his naked body. His nose decided it was itchy, but at least that could be satisfied by rubbing the wood wall. Waiting was agony. In his agony, he wondered if it would hurt —how much it would hurt. Just red. Red he could handle. Would Killian take him all the way to the white? Never would have imagined it before he saw this room and certainly not before when he wasn’t so bloody tired. A tiny speck of ache lived in his hip bone—true pain or just a memory? His body gave up its complaining, letting his brain take over, and Colton recalled every reason he deserved what he was going to get. The black started when he lost her; from there, he fed it. It wasn’t killing werewolves that fed it up—that was his duty—it was the sheer volume of them, the constant hunt, the times he lost himself in it, the vile taste of their blood on his tongue and how much he liked it. The hunts when he was merciless and the dead shifters left behind when they couldn’t keep up with his voracious appetite. Had the Council wanted to be rid of them too? Now he knew he should have protected them. They were weaker—he saw that from his chains—but then he’d been ignorant. Except for Vegas, he had no excuse for that. Letting that foul beast claim him would have been unforgivable to his self-respect. He could’ve let it kill him—it would have been an honorable death. His pride wouldn’t allow it. He was simply…b etter. Souls must be released at all costs, and he’d done well with that, his true purpose, but it cost someone his life. There was something else buried under all his shame, his greatest sin, but it was locked away, hidden deep even from his prying conscience. But he’d worried a corner up and…and…the door opened. Terror squeezed Colton’s chest and it became hard to breathe. Killian walked the room; Colton could hear his stealthy steps. Or was it prowled the room? Even his step sounded menacing. Was he wearing boots again? Fear sent all his hair to standing on end. A shiver went up his spine vertebra by vertebra. A lone finger touched his quivering spine, and he jolted, rattling chains. That dark laugh sounded again, soft and seductive. “Have you decided which lick of black you’ll give me first?” Ah, mercy. “No? You can think on it as we go, then.” A thin cold strap met the skin on the top of his shoulder and, glancing over, Colton saw the loop of black leather glisten in the low light. It shone with a cruel twinkle that was shocking, like it was…alive. The smell of leather was something he used to enjoy; it had once seemed such a wholesome thing, that sweet smokiness. Now his gut curled at the scent. Killian stroked him with the leather whip, touching him everywhere and, oh God in heaven if there was one—aroused him with it. With the whip still in his hand, Killian rubbed him, running his hot fingers down the shaft from base to sensitive tip. “You are utterly delicious, Blondie. When I’m done, I will pleasure myself in you, take my payment for services rendered.” His gasp said yes, he would pay up. “Stick out your tongue.” An odd request, but he complied. The braided leather felt like treads against the tip of his tongue as Killian gave him a taste of the instrument of his punishment. The tip of the whip had a small leather tassel—so deceptively soft. “Stings more when wet,” he explained. Evil werewolf! Must learn not to fall for such things. “You begged me for this, and you know how much I like it when you beg.” Closing his eyes tight as they would go and voice shaky, he answered, “Yes, Killian.” “I’ll take all your black markings now, my pretty one.” And he began. The leather made both a sound in the air and a sound when it struck bare flesh—both were awful. Jesus fucking Christ! When the first lash struck, it stung mightily, far more than he expected, and his gasp was filled with surprise. The shock of it caused his entire body to jerk involuntarily, wrists banging against the iron shackles as his arms tried to pull inward and his legs rattling their chains trying to close. Before his body stilled completely, the next blow struck across the other shoulder and down the opposite side. A memory surfaced; Killian explaining how the overlapping of strokes at the bottom made the pain so much more intense. So right! He’d give testimony. Still—it was just a lick of red. The pain had a slightly different flavor from any shifting pain. Like the difference between evil and wicked, it was a matter of degree. The lash fell, rose and fell again. He willed himself not to count them—it wasn’t as if he knew when the end would come, anyway. It was really beginning to hurt and it hurt more when the leather struck the thinner, more sensitive skin at the sides under his shaky arms. Gritting his teeth, molars tight against each other, Colton bent his head forward and endured. Many strokes later…he wasn’t counting…maybe twenty, maybe more, his skin began to burn, welting up and stinging ferociously. It began to feel like punishment. “Defy it all you want, my little shifter, my arm will never tire,” Killian said between flicks of the nasty black leather. “Fighting it will only make it take longer.” It was true—he was fighting it. Colton didn’t know how to do anything else. All he could feel was the lash striking him. He couldn’t feel the blackness in his mind yet. Focused on finding it,

he searched within himself, but wicked Killian was right as usual. It had soaked in deep. The whip sang through the air again and again. “You’re such a stubborn little bastard. I will break you of it, Colton, really I will. I do like a challenge.” The sound of the leather flying through the air altered. His ears were faster than his brain when it came to understanding the reason—application of increased force. It landed diagonally across his buttocks and upper thigh with such a vicious slap he cried out, in shock, in pain. A second whistle in the air and a second agonizing burn across his flesh on the other side, delivered so fast he had no time to brace for it and could only suffer its arrival. Truly without pity, Killian did not slow his assault, each snap of the whip and each hot lick of pain so perfectly timed it was diabolical, never allowing a full breath between each. Cruel!—so cruel. Killian sent the lash down his legs, and it was so agonizing he could taste the pain in his mouth, blood from his bitten cheek. Hot! The red was smoldering now, like fresh spewed lava. The crack sounded and the lash struck the tender, unprotected skin on the back of his knee. It hurt so bad Colton’s entire body gave into the ensuing spasm. Jerking uselessly in his chains, he couldn’t stop his chest and cheek from slamming into the unforgiving wooden wall. Tight manacles bruised ankle bones. His vision blurred. And then…it happened. When the power of the shift rips the human body apart and transforms it into its new shape, there lives a second, less than a second, a mere shimmer of time when the mind is without a home, no body to call its own. Existence is painless in there, nothing but formlessness beyond understanding. A secret place, it contains nothing but the essence of self, a lost self. In the fire of pain, Colton found a whisper of that place, its ghost, its echo, and from that echo he withdrew a thread of deepest black. Colton forgot his body, his entire consciousness focused on that one thing only. His mind gave it form and shape, a swirling wisp of black ink in a clear pool. Long, dark tendrils of guilt, swirling. How can I grasp such a gossamer and constantly shifting thing? “Give it to me, Colton,” a cold and unforgiving voice called from far away. “It’s mine. It belongs to me now.” Hearing, Colton obeyed. He gave it up with a single thought and the crystal pool sparkled anew. Clean. The wooden wall came back into focus. In his awakened ears, he heard himself panting and, hanging his head, he saw the dangling satin ribbon brushing across his chest. Mine to hold on to. “I want the rest, my pretty one. Give me what is mine.” And the whip found its sweet spot again and again. Found once, the echo of the secret place was easier to find again. Colton made a map and Killian’s seductive voice and cruel hand drove him there again and again until the crystal pool was empty. Dangling limply from his shackles, Colton felt his body, but just couldn’t get it to cooperate, couldn’t bear his weight fully upon his legs. His flesh was screaming in torment. Killian had soaked him in gasoline and set him afire with a black leather match. Sweaty cold hair stuck to his face. The God of Punishment caressed the red band around his neck. “That was good, my pretty one. Just one thing left to go, isn’t there?” What is left? Colton didn’t know. I gave you all my b lack! “You have failed in your duty as a shifter, Colton.” Fire flared in his shoulders as he jerked up his head. His grunt asked the question for him. “Peace shifter, peace werewolf.” Colton heard, and so hearing felt the little corner he’d pulled open widen, the place he’d hidden from himself. The truth wanted out. “Peace shifter applies to you, doesn’t it? Your Council broke their own laws didn’t they? You obeyed them because you swore your oaths, but you knew it was wrong, didn’t you? They would hunt you to your death and all those others who didn’t agree with them, the weaker ones and any others they feared. Isn’t this what was happening?” The crystal pool grew saturated, filling with a tangle of black threads. “They murdered your wife. They’ve killed others. How many others, Colton? How many tried to stand in their way? How many spoke up for you?” A single, icy cold tear squeezed its way out of the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. “I will punish you now for tolerating it all, for letting your corrupt Council operate above the law.” It was true, all of it. And it took a werewolf to show him. The Council was corrupt. They wanted to reveal everything to humankind, they wanted to seek dominion over man and they wanted to crush the treaty and all the peace it had brought. The innocent would be hunted, their scent alone enough to convict them. It would be murder. It would be disaster. Colton knew this was the path the Council was headed down and it was the reason they feared his gift. It was possible for him to stop them… “You accept that you deserve to be punished for this?” “Yes, Killian,” he rasped. And Killian punished him some more. The tangle of black guilt unwound thread by broken thread.

Chapter Fifteen

If Killian tried to send him into the white, that land where intense pain resided, it didn’t work. Oh, but he delivered such a serving of red his consciousness wavered and only crept back to him slowly as he slouched, bound and imprisoned. This red was hanging on tenaciously and he burned all over. Constant straining against the shackles had bruised and scraped his wrists almost raw and his shoulders ached from endless, unrelieved tension. The only flesh not screaming at him was at the front, his chest, groin and the front of his thighs. Killian’s lash had curled around his calves a little and reached his shins and, being bony, they screamed too. Despite the pain, he felt better…free. It was such a strange sensation. How long had it been since he’d tasted freedom? He couldn’t recall and, at present, it wasn’t all that important anyways. “I’m disappointed, Colton.” The big wolf was right behind him, and cringing hurt his shoulders. “You didn’t beg me to stop.” “That’s because…because…I think I fainted.” “Almost as good, but I do like the begging.” “I’m sorry, Killian.” Would he beat him more for not begging? The evil laugh sounded again in his ear. “I’ll take begging as part of my compensation, then.” “I’ll beg right now…for you to unlock me.” “No, I don’t think I will. You have no idea how much I like you like this.” No, he couldn’t imagine it—he probably looked as bad as he felt. Seeking to ease the strain on his neck and shoulders, Colton bent his head forward and ground it against the hard wood. It helped somewhat and he enjoyed the relief while Killian continued to prowl the room. A drawer opened and shut and the whip went thwack, thwack against his hard thigh as he walked. When Killian touched him, a single finger down his spine, Colton startled, equally with pain and with surprise. “I have never beaten anyone as badly as you, my defiant one. I liked it very much.” “That’s because…you’re a…sick bastard.” Evil werewolf only laughed in agreement. “I like those welts all over your ass. I like knowing I put them there. Very arousing.” “I hate you.” “But you’ll want me.” Even now, Colton wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t. And he became more certain of it as Killian caught the hanging tail of ribbon from the front and wound it around his big hand. The ribbon tugged his neck to one side and Killian laid his lips there, across the ribbon and against skin, his breath hot and delicious. “Salty and sweet,” he murmured. For a while there he was managing to hold himself up by his legs, but that lone kiss turned them back to jelly and he sagged in his chains once again. “Killian, please…release me.” “No. There’s a small matter of payment to be dealt with first.” “What are you going to do to me?” “Whatever I want and…” Dare he ask? “And…?” “I might want to whip you some more.” Colton didn’t want to whimper, really he didn’t. Endure more? Contemplation ceased with another tug on the ribbon. Killian wound it around his fist right to the knot, clenched his fingers in Colton’s hair, brought his head around and kissed him, a kiss with a dark soul, sewn from black thread. It numbed the stinging pain and made him forget his chains. Exhaustion gave way to arousal, the greater need supplanting it. “You’re hard,” Killian cooed. “Very good.” Then he began a new torment, familiar from past payment, but different in that it was mixed with pain as Killian pressed his body against tender, abused skin and stroked him. Felt like he was wearing leather pants. Everything was cold leather. Slowly, Killian unwound the ribbon and left it to tease his back. “I want you very badly,” he whispered. “But I really like to make you beg and I like the whimpers you make when you’re close to coming and you want me inside you. I’ll be patient.” But he wasn’t, not really. Not at first. The lubricant was cold, shocking cold against heated flesh, and the werewolf’s breathing was very fast. The stroking hand was wickedly slow, though, roughened from wielding the whip handle and so arousing and so pleasurable Colton knew it wouldn’t be long before the begging began. Ah, but then… Killian withdrew his stroking hand and the whip snapped. It struck across his shoulder with deadly accuracy and a second followed immediately, crisscrossing at the bottom. Such a shock! The strikes were not as forceful—left-handed, not Killian’s dominant right. Before the shock lessened, the hand was stroking again, the fullness of his erection having never eased. The stroking stopped, and Colton expected another bite of the whip. It wasn’t the whip, though, Killian chose; it was slippery fingers sliding over welted buttocks and into the cleft between. More stroking there, making him slick and filling him with want. The

hand withdrew and it was two more stings by the leather wasp. For good measure, Killian repeated the circuit twice. All the sensations got mixed up in Colton’s head. Even the sting of the whip began to be desired, began to bring pleasure. Killian Frost is the evilest werewolf ever b orn. The third time, the stroking digits in the cleft lingered, searching. Killian entered him with one wet, slick finger. “You’re so tight,” he whispered. “So hot!” The finger thrust in and out, a promise only, and then it was gone. Then it was two more whacks with the whip, but Colton could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, not that it didn’t smart or anything. Killian was panting himself, short, fast gasps. All his emotions were confused. He wanted to climax. He wanted Killian to whip him again. He desperately wanted a kiss. What he got was two fingers in the ass and a bite on the shoulder, hard, but no broken skin. While Killian had whipped him mercilessly, the whip was short and thick and he’d not cut him, spilling his blood. He’d bitten his own cheek, nothing more. Demanding, and commanding all his attention, the fingers thrust deeper, stretching him, pleasing him when he didn’t want them to and forcing whimpers from deep in his chest. “Ah, my pretty one. I do like to make you whimper.” Killian’s voice had gone husky with need, with desire. Seeking more whimpering, he finger-fucked him for a moment, just to hear it from his lips—Colton knew it, and after one final deep thrust, he slid them out. His wicked hands were stilled for a moment as he unlaced his pants. There was a whisper of material moving, but no zipper. A very hot and pulsing length of hard flesh slid into the cleft, and Colton whimpered anew. A leather-clad thigh pressed against one of his, pushing it forward as far as it would go within its short length of steel linkage. Having given up the whip to the floor, Killian had two hands free and he used them with cold-blooded calculation, stroking Colton’s yearning cock with one and steering the head of his own yearning cock with the other, nudging it into Colton’s entrance, but not pushing it all the way in. The teasing drove Colton mad. He had nothing to hang on to. Chained, he writhed, unable to escape. Metal clanked as wrists and ankles jerked in their confinement. Pleasure was a pulsing, living thing inside him. Killian demanded he beg for it, and beg he would. “Killian, please,” came out in one long sigh of need. “Don’t torture me anymore. Please! I beg you.” “I’m torturing you?” rasped the voice, thick with its own need. “You know you are! You want to fuck me and I want you to—you know it. Please! Give yourself to me.” Ah, Killian. When he got around to giving, he gave it all. Inch by inch. The first intrusion of the ripe purple head stretched him, the slow progression of more length thrilled him and the careful, patient thrusting until he could take him all amazed him. Then Killian Frost took full payment for services rendered. Pumping hips drove him deep. Colton’s chest smacked the hard wall, and his cheek followed. Killian hauled him off the wall by the hips and held him as he plunged into him over and over, his breath hot and panting against his burning back. Each stroke of smooth, slick cock pressed groin and thighs against welted and striped buttock. Pain mingled with pleasure. As much as he owed Killian in payment, the dark wolf did not hurt him excessively, did not pound into him ruthlessly seeking his own pleasure at the expense of Colton’s. The man’s self-control was astounding. “You make me want to come, pretty one,” he said, his voice gone deep. By the tone, Colton knew Killian’s eyes had turned red. A fire had kindled. Hunting eyes. “Give me your climax, Colton. Come for me.” Red eyes, red ribbon. Justice meted out. A few strokes of a tight fist and he obeyed his master. His body shuddered with his release. And Killian followed. Instead of crushing him this time, Killian was squashing him into the wood, the grain imprinting on the skin of his cheek. Only the shackles and chains held them both up. All the muscles, tendons and ligaments in Colton’s arms were screaming. All his welts and stripes and bruises were protesting loudly. Lower down, his well-used and abused body sought mercy. Killian was very big and still inside him. “Get off,” he begged. “Shhh…” he whispered. “I’m quite comfortable.” Colton couldn’t move. Could only acquiesce and whimper. “Quit whining. You should be worshipping at my feet, not complaining.” “Release me and I will,” he breathed. “Ha! You’ll just fall there, it won’t be worship.” “It’ll still be at your feet.” “Just a minute.” A minute was far too long. “Killian? Please. I hurt.” Evil werewolf laughed. “I hope so.” And he pushed himself off and reclaimed his own body part for himself. When Killian did release him, taking his sweet time, Colton did fall at his feet, only it was more like crumpled at his feet, his torturer helping him there. Only sometimes, Killian’s helps were…painful. “You weigh far too much for me to carry you to bed when you’re all dead weight.” “Leave me here.” “Oh? You like my attic room, do you?” His sweaty, blond head came off the floor. “No.” “Come, then, Blondie. Before I decide to welt up the front. Although I might have to chain you up by the neck, hmm? Are your arms sore?” “You’re a mean son of a bitch, Killian Frost. Mean!” “I am not,” he argued, offended. “I am generous.” Groaning on the carpet, Colton had to agree. “You were very generous, yes. There’s a lot of you. You shared most generously.” “See?” Killian smiled down at him, looking much like a dreaded pirate in his boots, unlaced leather pants and white shirt. He’d dressed for the occasion. The man took the punishing business seriously and had the clothes to back him up. His beautiful black hair was hanging loose and was appealingly messy. The shirt was damp and rumpled—might have had to exert himself, poor man. “Would you like more, Colton?” he asked. And he was serious. “No, Killian.” Leather creaked as he crouched down and fingered a strand of sweaty hair. “You do tempt me, pretty one,” he said softly. “It’s a dangerous thing, this temptation.” Killian looked suddenly serious, eyes full of some knowledge Colton didn’t quite understand, a dark and mysterious knowledge. It hurt his shoulders to look up and gaze into those fathomless dark eyes. “You thrill me…” Killian confessed. “You deserved your punishment and yet I feel the handle of the whip call to me even now, when I know you’ve had enough. I’ve never had one such as you chained to my wall before, one who could take so much more than I have ever given out. I liked it very much.” With a grunt, Colton acknowledged the truth of it. Those red eyes looking upon his exposed back had been a thing he’d felt, a touch as physical as a caress. “There is a line I have never crossed, do not want to cross—I have worked very hard to never get close to that sharp edge—and then you…well, you tempt me. Something lives in my blood. It wants. Once in a while, I let some of it have its way and it’s all good. No one who comes up here with me comes without begging first—that’s the price I must demand to control it.” The knowledge was very disturbing, even to Killian, who closed his eyes against the self-truth. There was more to be said and Colton stilled his pained breaths to hear it. “You are like a gift, my pretty one—you and your shifter blood and tolerance for incredible pain and suffering. No human could ever dream of coming close to it and no werewolf could, either —despite the regeneration properties of transformation. You…? I could beat you and beat you. Could use something long and cruel, a real whip, a cat o’ nine tails! Through your flesh to the bone. Always yearning to find that elusive white-hot lava of which you speak—I know it’s there now and part of me—a part I don’t like very much—desires it badly. With you, I could let it all out at once, lava and acid mixed together. Do you understand me?” Colton did—he nodded. “Don’t ever let me bring you up here again.” Their eyes met. The truth was acknowledged on both sides, an agreement reached and a pact made. Never again! Colton’s exhausted body agreed wholeheartedly, especially when Killian rose and took him with him. Never mind the lash marks, what really hurt was his shoulders and that stupid, stupid niggling bit of fire burning in his hip, a banked coal, smoldering. At the door, Colton took one last look at that wooden wall—not over his shoulder, that hurt too much. He had to turn his body completely and take a good long look, Killian’s warning echoing in his ears. It was strange—it seemed the shackles and chains had served their purpose, the sense of freedom was bubbling up inside him again, an unfamiliar and wonderful feeling. Relief? Or was it more? It was on the tip of his tongue to say something to Killian about it—confess it, thank him for pulling the black threads from his soul. But when he turned back to the door, Colton caught his eye again and realized he didn’t have to. The evil werewolf knew. “Mine to keep,” he said. Stupid telepathic wolf! The door to the attic room was locked behind them. For Colton, the entrance was barred forever. It was such sweet relief…and a touch of sweet sorrow, for there had been one or two stings of the leather wasp that had whispered of violent pleasure. Was he getting as sick and perverted as Killian? Or had it been there all along? Reaching Killian’s real bed was a journey of a thousand miles. His step was heavy and his heart was light. Funny thing, that. Colton wanted to examine it, think on it, find an explanation, but it was simply too big to grasp and too slippery to get his hands on at the moment. A stray thought did invade his mind when he brushed up against the crumpled blankets on his side of the bed; actually, there were two. Was he intruding here? It wasn’t like he’d been invited. “Colton?” As he tugged up the sheet, he raised his face to Killian’s questioning one. “I can sleep in your guest room, if you prefer.” That got him more disapproval. “You’re not a guest.” “I know.” “You are mine. My lover. You will sleep with me, and it offends me you would think I’d want it otherwise.” “I apologize.” “Accepted. I know you’re exhausted.” It’s true, he was. He wavered on his feet as he pulled the sheet back down. “What happened to your headboard?” The horrid, metal torture device had been replaced with a new one, still wrought-iron and massive, but it lacked sharp things, the hooks and spikes. Not that he missed it. “Nothing gets by you,” Killian replied sarcastically. “It was too dangerous. It might have cut you. Or me.”

“Oh.” Killian had expected him to be in his bed again? “And I never even got to show it off to anybody.” He sighed. “It was art.” It had been quite a few weeks since Colton had been here last, months even. Six weeks now? Beyond tired, he tilted his head instead of speaking. “My bed has been empty, Colton, waiting for you.” Swaying, he closed his eyes. What did that mean? Why would Killian sleep alone? Thinking of the man summoned him; Killian brushed a limp strand of hair behind one ear, startling him. “Wash up before you crawl in and lapse into a coma. You’re sticky and sweaty and dirty. You smell like me. Like leather and violence and sex.” Even if it was true, the thought of firstly moving was bad enough, but the second part—having water touch his back, his legs, was intolerable. It would feel like acid on him all over again. “Go. Otherwise…well—you’re all slick and slippery and I’m right here behind you—I could just push you onto the bed and slide right into you and take my pleasure all over again.” “You wouldn’t!” The dark, wicked laugh rang in his ear again. “Yes, I would.” The push was slight, but Colton was weightless and fell face first, not even holding his hands out to protect himself. Stiffening shoulders complained, and complained further when the powerful man rested his weight on him once more. The rumpled white shirt sailed across the bed. Big, hot hands fondled his buttocks, fingers tracing painful welts. “I’ll be quick.” Escaping was impossible. Worse, Killian was right, he was always right. Colton’s body was slippery. The sliding-into part was somewhat overstated and when the engorged head of Killian’s cock entered him again, it was with a curious mixture of pain and pleasure, and Colton cried out into the blankets, fingers clenching handfuls. “Relax, Colton,” Killian encouraged as he slid himself deeper. “Give yourself to me. Relax and let me in.” Quick—he was quick. The pace was quick. Once Colton relaxed, Killian buried himself to the hilt, moaned and then began the inexorable rocking with his hips, filling him and quickening his desire. Once again he forgot the whip marks—forgot everything. It was hard to bear, the rush of sensations too much for his exhausted body. Killian must have known that when he said he’d be quick and so he climaxed fast with a cry of his own. Pulling out, he spent himself on Colton’s welts, hot and copiously, and then collapsed on the bed instead of Colton’s suffering body. “Colton.” A groan was the only reply he got. “Go wash. Before I catch my breath.” Colton took his advice. Every step hurt. The washcloth hurt. The water stung. He didn’t recall making it back to the bed, but he got there somehow—on his own? Nor did he remember putting his head on the pillow. He did vaguely recall folding himself, stiffly and painfully, into fetal position and Killian covering him up with heavy, suffocating, scratchy blankets. And that was it.

Chapter Sixteen

Coffee! The aroma woke him, a breath of hot sumptuousness. Only three things had the power to wake Colton so instantly from a dead sleep: coffee, bacon and werewolves. Two out of three. A werewolf was beside him and so was that fantastic smell, drifting along on waves of steam. “Oh God,” he murmured in appreciation, in devotion. “So you’re not dead, then?” Can’t move. Encased in cement. Colton’s hands twitched and his eyes opened. The rest of him? Forget it. His arms ached and his shoulders had seized. “Knew I shoulda woke you sooner. Now you’re all stiff.” In acknowledgment, he grunted. Supreme effort was required to move, but…hot coffee was all the incentive he needed. Would it have cream in it? Sugar? Colton was ready to beg all over again. Inching toward upright with his knees, Colton unfolded from his ball and propped himself awkwardly on the pillows. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day and didn’t fucking care. Agony! All that effort made him short of breath. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and heavy from sleep. “You’re a good punisher. Very good.” Evil werewolf laughed and took a drink of his coffee. His! “Give me that or I will kill you.” “Oh? Feeling feisty, are you?” “Cranky. The word is cranky. Gimme.” Slowly, tauntingly, Killian took another sip. Licked his lips. Then smiled slyly. “Too sweet for my liking. Might as well have it.” The coffee scalded his tongue. So what. Everything else burned, why not his tongue? His hand, though, was steady enough to hold the cup. A scratched up, scabbed up thick purple bruise encircled his wrist. Was that what the rest of him looked like? Taking another sip, Colton considered the trade-off. He felt wonderful. Light. Empty. Or was it full? Who cared? Cup drained, he handed it back. “Thank you,” he added, remembering he once had manners. “What time’s it?” “Time? You mean what day is it?” Day? “Huh?” “You have been moldering away in my bed for the past sixteen hours. I wasn’t sure if I’d find you dead or turned to stone.” “God.” “You say that a lot. Guess you shifters have inside knowledge, eh? Can see human souls, so have no doubts?” Unconsciously, Colton shrugged. Pain flared. Killian set the coffee mug aside and peeled the covers off his nice warm nest. “You have to get up.” Panic flared, instead of pain. “Is someone near?” Twisting his head toward the door and the window hurt more, but Colton forced himself. “No. Settle down, pretty one. I meant you have to move before you petrify. You carry all your defiance in your shoulders. They’ll be very stiff.” With a sharp yank on the covers, Killian bared him to the knees. The cold blast snapped him further awake. The big wolf slithered closer. “Hmmm,” he murmured, examining him. There was approval in that sound. “I did do a good job, didn’t I?” “Sick bastard.” Laughing, Killian moved on to examining his wrists, his legs and back. It was embarrassing, almost as bad as that first night when he’d ordered him to undress. Up to that point, it had never bothered Colton to be naked in front of others. Nudity was part of life when you were a shifter. His own mother knew every inch of him, yet having Killian stare at him had been acutely humiliating. Had he been afraid Killian would find fault with him? Seemed so ridiculous now. “No shifting,” Killian said. “What!” “Part of the punishment. You will suffer this for a while longer so it sticks.” The man was insane. He had to stay like this? “For how long?” “I’ll let you know. But you’re not getting off easy.” Colton eyed him with suspicion. “You sure you don’t just like admiring your handiwork?” “That too.” “I’ll get you for this.” Killian laughed his evil laugh. “Yes…you will.” Shutting up while you were ahead was the greater part of wisdom. “It will hurt to shower, all that hot, hot water on your skin. But you will.” “Screw you, you evil werewolf!” “I’d like that. Would be nicer if you were clean and fed, though, so off you go. Would you like me to help you?” “No! Get stuffed. Your helps hurt.” “Be defiant and ungrateful, then. Just be downstairs in half an hour and ready to eat. I can cook scrambled eggs and that’s about it, so that’s what you’re getting.” The idea of eating was…appealing. Even something cooked by an evil werewolf. Right again—stupid Killian, the showering hurt. The hot water loosened up every muscle, though, and he could finally turn and have a look at his naked self when he was done. It was not a pretty sight. Killian’s whipping had not cut skin, true, but it was so damned close the welts had bled underneath, all red and scabbed-up looking. They were everywhere, from neck to ankle. The precision was astounding, utterly astounding, the pattern clearly visible, each and every stroke looking like the wicked man had spaced them with a ruler. There were so many it was a wonder he had any white skin showing between. Horrible as it was, he was thankful for each and every one. They’d been earned. All freedom came with a cost. Rifling Killian’s closet provided a pair of cotton sweatpants that were too loose and, even tied tightly, they hung low on his hips. Hurt to tighten them, as did the soft linen shirt when he slid his shoulders into it, knowing he couldn’t manage pulling on a T-shirt yet. Killian was a very neat man; his closet was as controlled as he was, with a place for everything and everything in its place. Had nice clothes too, worth…appropriating. “Stealing my clothes now?” Killian asked when he made it downstairs. “I’d like to, but you’re just too big.” “Keep ’em. I’ll never get your scent off them. Other werewolves will start to wonder about me.” “I’m sorry, Killian. I hope you know I don’t want to put you in danger.”

The wolf smiled at him. “I was kidding. I mean, I would have to wash them, otherwise…?” They ate. Colton ate a lot. It was like he’d not eaten in days. Now that his mouth had forgotten the taste of werewolf blood, real food took back all its flavor and delight. Stopping before he would regret it later was hard. “Are you ready to talk now?” Stupid werewolf. “Why do you always want to talk? You always have to know everything. Drives me crazy.” After his shower, Colton had cut the lead off the red ribbon, without permission. The collar itself had stayed, of course, and Killian rubbed his thumb along the still-wet satin. “I have ways of making you talk.” Colton’s mind immediately returned to the attic room and its whipping post. “You worry far too much. I do have other methods, much nicer ones. Come.” Holding his ground, Colton disobeyed. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle Killian’s lovemaking at present. “Being defiant, are we? Makes me horny, thinking how I’m gonna break you.” Killian drifted closer and nuzzled his neck, his earlobe with his nose and his hot, coffee-laced mouth. Closing his eyes, Colton shuddered, feeling the rush of pleasure shimmy down his back. “You’re so responsive. One touch. One touch, one kiss and your pulse leaps. I can feel it under my lips.” Ohhhh—Colton felt it too. Killian’s seduction began on his neck, traveled along his jaw and ended quite some time later on his mouth, kissed into ripe fullness by his complete attention. “Come with me,” he commanded. It wasn’t the red ribbon that made him obey; it was desire, pure and simple. Killian’s purloined shirt ended up on the hallway floor, tugged off by seeking hands between quick kisses and unhurried steps. Killian had the hands of a precision torturer, and the borrowed pants were untied at the foot of the bed without Colton even noticing when Killian’s fast fingers found the strings. Loose, they slithered to the floor. Hot kisses gentled him onto the bed, the pillows coming up to meet his head without his being aware that he was sinking. Comfort embraced him, welts and soreness all but forgotten. Undressing Killian was trickier. He was fully clothed and the werewolf’s roving hands kept getting in the way, touching him everywhere, caressing skin and rubbing nipples, curving over hips and along thighs. It wasn’t torture, it was bliss. Colton’s hands worked at the button-fly jeans, filled out tightly by Killian’s aroused cock and hard to open. “Killian, hold still!” “Impatient, are we?” “Yes!” Gentle fingers stilled his restless hands. “Let me.” Teasing him, Killian took over the task, undoing the elusive buttons one by one, his erection straining to get out, hard and ready. With an evil smile, he stroked himself, lacking any modesty and with evident pleasure. Killian’s striptease was so erotic—so dirty. All Colton could do was watch, utterly fascinated. It thrilled him completely and he had to suck pooling saliva down his throat. Killian did it only a few times before sliding off the confining garments and flinging them to the floor. He knelt, proudly naked and fully aroused over Colton, legs straddling his thighs. Reaching out, eager and impatient, Colton touched his fingertips to that wonderful, hot, silky length of hard flesh. His mouth grew jealous of his fingers. Killian pulled his hand off. “No. Not just yet, my lovely one. If I recall correctly, I owe you an orgasm.” “Huh?” “I’m always fair. I owe you. I’ll pay up now.” Owed him an orgasm? Since when? “Lie back and close your eyes.” Still puzzling out the mystery, Colton did. His arms sprawled awkwardly, seeking a comfortable position, and his rapidly beating heart slowed only fractionally. Not settling his weight on his sore body, Killian held himself over him and leaned in for a long, very arousing kiss full of tongue and want. The lips journeyed down, tasting Colton everywhere, tongue flicking nipples and forcing his muscles to constrict with involuntary spasms. Teeth nipped the skin of his waist, and Colton shuddered. The wonderful, hot tongue licked its way inward and Killian’s sizzling breath halted an inch from Colton’s erect penis. Anticipation built in his chest, and he didn’t know what to expect. And never did. Killian had teased him this way before, but this time he didn’t tease. The wet tongue licked from base to head in one long, pleasure-filled stroke. The sound it evoked in Colton was half moan, half groan. It became all groan a second later; Killian took him into his mouth and sucked. “Oh. My. God,” he groaned. Killian sucked again, dragging his mouth up and off. “I take it you like that?” he said, knowing damned well what the answer was. “God. Oh!” “So loquacious. However will I shut you up?” After that, Killian said no more and resumed delivering indescribable pleasure, licking, sucking and doing both together, totally obliterating any thought Colton might have had and would likely have for quite some time. The tempo increased and the sucking deepened. Talented fingers and then a tightly clenched hand joined the quickening tongue and sucking mouth, and Colton moaned in time to the delicious stroking. Pressure was building everywhere: in his balls, in his belly, inside his head. Felt so wonderful, Colton didn’t want to have the promised orgasm. He wanted to make it last, this absolute treat of Killian’s wanton mouth on his eager flesh for the first time. The pull was impossible to resist. Killian took his orgasm from him as easily as he did everything else, making Colton’s back arch as it tore through him, his hands clench into the sheets and his heels sink deep into the mattress. His head thrashed against the pillows. Flooded with sensations, Colton cried out in wordless joy, in satisfaction. As he lay thrumming in the aftermath of pleasure, Killian kissed him, the taste of Colton’s own essence upon his lips and his tongue as he inserted it into his panting mouth. Colton kissed him deeply, in thanks, in benediction. It took quite some time to open his eyes, and when he did, the man was smiling at him, a simple smile with no intent of any kind underneath it. Made him smile back. “So responsive. You like everything. I can’t get over it.” “Why do you have to? And who wouldn’t like that?” Colton’s grin deepened. “That was fantastic!” Laughing, Killian lay beside him. “I know I owed you and everything…but perhaps you’d care to practice? You seem to like that too.” Hard and seeking release, Killian nudged him with his own erection. Turn about was fair play. Besides, Colton couldn’t remember him owing him. His mouth remembered its earlier jealousy. He was greedy and his hand found its target. The lovely midnight blues closed, but the smile remained. “You have the most delicious mouth I have ever tasted. Made for sin. I thought that the first time I laid eyes on you.” “I can’t believe you considered it.” “I didn’t, it just came right out of my mouth. Surprised me. I never speak without thinking. When you knelt on my floor and bent your head down and all that beautiful blond hair fell through my fingers like silk, it just hit me.” It was hitting him all over again. Touching Killian aroused him back, desire building again. Nothing protested in his body when he slid lower on the bed. “Colton, stop.” His hand stopped. “Changed your mind?” “No. I just have to ask you something first.” “Oh for crying out loud, Killian. What are you dying to know now?” “Why did you agree? Why did you agree to my condition? I know you expected the worst—you thought I would hurt you and be my nasty werewolf self. So why’d you say yes?” Before confessing, he kissed his chest and tongued unadorned nipples. “I wanted to feel something,” he said at last. “Anything. It’s true, I did expect you to be very nasty, but…when you kissed me…I couldn’t forget it.” “You do thrill me, pretty one,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t forget it either.” The wolf’s big hand settled on Colton’s head, gently prodding it lower. “Now…give me your mouth.” “Yes, Killian.” Empowered by Killian’s words, he pleasured him back. Either Killian liked everything he did to him or he was being patient and letting him have his way, but he said nothing, gave no instructions. He enjoyed. Gave up moans and gasps. Colton took as much of him as he could deep into his mouth and his throat—Killian was so big, so hard! Practice made perfect; he was a good student and he had a masterful teacher. Always wanting to be in the dominant position, Killian paused in the lesson to get up on his knees and thrust into his mouth with such a look of enjoyment on his face that Colton forgave the red light in his eyes, visible beneath the closed lids. Black hair spilled over his shoulders as he tilted his head back. Praying to his beloved Bella Luna? Fingers found his mane again, fondling with absent minded joy. Perhaps it was a need, this possessing? Killian made him work hard for his reward. Knowing what he liked done to him, Colton borrowed Killian’s techniques, both of hand and tongue. The werewolf’s body vibrated with the effort of his prolonged restraint. He was fighting it! Quickening his stroking, Colton freed up his wet mouth, “Quit trying to hold off,” he panted. “Come for me. Come for me, my wicked one.” Crimson eyes opened and looked directly into his. “It’s so good! So good. I love your mouth. Give it back to me.” Then, wonder of all wonders, Killian begged. “Colton,” he breathed, “give me your mouth. Please.” Once again the brilliant red eyes closed in ecstasy, and Colton gave him his mouth and all the pleasures to be found there. The only possible conclusion was close at hand. Licking with his tongue, sucking hard and deeply and stroking with his hand took all of Killian’s control from him and put it into Colton’s hands. This time when Killian climaxed, he cried out, hands clenched tight in Colton’s hair and his body shuddering with the power of it. Hot ejaculate spurted into his mouth, on his face, endlessly, tasting now of Killian only, nothing more, nothing darker, nothing burnt. Quivering, Killian lowered his face and kissed him. Kissed him sweetly, in delight, eyes still burning red. “Your eyes are shining brightly, werewolf,” Colton said, curious. Such a sight normally would have called to his blood, an arrow shot from a master bowman straight through the heart. With Killian it was red ribbon to red eyes, a direct link, once forged thence unbreakable. “They shine for you,” he replied, and added, serenely, “only for you.” Lowering his still-trembling body, Killian joined him on the bed, joined him in his satiation. “They shine for me?” “You fill me up, pretty one. You fill me up with power and I can’t stop it. It’s like a hurricane. I’ve never been able to stop it, not even that first time. Bella Luna gifts me and it comes through you. But don’t be frightened, I won’t hurt you.” Truth! Killian spoke only the truth and yet it was so impossible to believe. What was so wrong with him that his relationship with Killian would fill him up with power? “Power?” he said, filling with dread. Maybe he hadn’t escaped his corruption, maybe it was only sinking deeper? Killian took his face in his hands. “The power of the hunt. The power of souls I have not taken. It’s all inside me now.” He winced. “Oh God.”

“Colton! No. It is not a bad thing, it’s a wonderful thing.” “Wonderful for you,” he said in despair. “Disaster for the world.” “No! Listen!” His fingers squeezed. “Listen. That morning—when you left—you asked me something and in return I gave you a condition and put that ribbon in your hand.” “I remember.” “What did I offer you?” Colton rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “A night in your bed for the solution that would…save me.” “And have you paid me?” Had he? There hadn’t been a lot of bedding involved, unless it was him in an exhausted slumber. The attic room? No. Killian had paid him. “No…I don’t know.” Snorting in disbelief, Killian eased his squeezing hands. “You paid me in full! A thousand times over. You gave me free rein to punish you and I took it.” “That was you paying me.” “Hardly. I enjoyed that much more than you. You deserved every single welt I gave you and damn it, I loved giving you every single one. And you let me pleasure myself with both my whip on you and my cock deep in your body. You gave me all your black soul, I felt it—every little piece and small bit and lick of it curling up your pelt. Mine! And I kept my word. I gave you the solution.” Colton closed his eyes and let the wave of knowledge wash over him. “Didn’t I?” Colton gave it up, yet again. “Yes, Killian.” “And what is that solution?” Something broke inside Colton, and only time would tell what it was. “Say it out loud.” “Kill them all.” Silence strung out for minutes, deep and unsettling. The word kill rang in the air, so cold, so final. “Bella Luna insists I help you.” “What?” “She demands reciprocity. She’s a mean bitch.” Colton had no words. All that came out was, “Fuck.” “It’s all in the balance, Colton, and we are about to slide into a deep and dark imbalance, aren’t we?” More truth—it was getting uglier by the minute. There was no trick here. Killian had not played him to bring him to this conclusion, for it had been hidden inside all along, hidden deep. He had always known it was the only way. Like cutting out cancer to save the body, the corrupt Council must be cut from the shifter world, and cut deeply, all the rot taken away, leaving only life behind. Their world was divided, at war. Not all-out war—a cold war. Between those who sought to enlighten the world and those who didn’t. Colton didn’t want to end up as some experiment in a lab somewhere or imprisoned because of all the things he could become, all the people he could become, right down to their very DNA. Nor did he want to be made into a weapon to be used by human hands, and such a weapon he would be! Every possible outcome was awful—right down to the worst: scaring the humans into a corner with the only option left being to bite. The most corrupt of all shifters wanted to continue their campaign to eradicate all werewolves from the face of the earth, hunters or not. It was believed that the pure-bloods would embrace the idea, assist with it fully when they learned the truth, and likely they would, convicting and condemning based only on birthright, not crime. Being born a shifter did not grant the right to commit genocide. Or murder. The world was not yet ready for the truth, no matter how close they were to discovering it on their own. The time would come and that time was not now. Destroying the Council was a needful thing. And the burden had been laid at his feet. Payment demanded for gifts given. Like physical pain, Colton knew he couldn’t escape his duty and sighed so deeply in acceptance it rattled his entire body. “Colton, come here.” Killian meant into his embrace and, having nothing else to hold on to, Colton went, seeking shelter in his enemy’s arms, safe in the least likely of all places. The dark wolf took his head under his chin and pulled him in close, his dominating arms and body far more comforting than they ever had been. “I don’t like your Bella Luna.” Killian’s soft laugh vibrated in his cheek. “She’s yours too. You shifters try to deny it, but she’s Goddess of the Hunt and she cares not for who does the hunting, only the hunt itself. You may have turned from her embrace, but she rules all. It’s always night somewhere. And, as I said, she’s a bitch.” “And she has filled me up with power.” “Yes, pretty one. And now you pay.” “Quit being the wise fucking philosopher, Killian Frost.” More dark laughter from the dark hunter, although Colton suspected he just might be a dark oracle as well, prophesying a doomed future. “I knew giving you a good hard climax would make you talk.” “Now I remember why I hate you.” “Want me to make love to you? I think I prefer it when you just dislike me.” “Aren’t you ever satisfied?” “Yes. You satisfy me most thoroughly. But that’s the problem.” “Hmm?” Killian’s scent had altered, Colton was sure of it. Smoky, yes, and musky, but Colton was just beginning to recognize the whisper of something else underneath it. Power. “You make me want more. I touch you and…I dunno, it’s like I can feel your shifter blood flowing underneath your skin, all your incredible power vibrating there, power held in check just for me…and…then I want you again. I love feeling your breath quicken under my touch, my kiss. You come so alive in my hands that I want nothing more than to make your pulse leap with desire for me—I want to make you beg.” “Again with the begging!” “Always. Now, pretty one, let’s forget the Lovely Moon’s plans for us and enjoy each other for a while. We don’t have forever. All this talk about begging has sparked my interest.” “Perhaps I’m satisfied enough, you disgusting werewolf.” It was as if Killian’s hands had never stopped their restless roving. They were all over him again and rousing him when he’d just managed to catch his breath from that fantastic blow-job. “But you’re not satisfied, my little shifter. I can feel your pulse now. It’s quickening. If I were to kiss you, do you think it would leap for me?” Big hands grabbed him firmly at the junction between his thigh and buttocks and pulled him so close every inch was touching his large body. Testing his theory, Killian touched his wicked werewolf lips to his, not a kiss, just the promise of one. And his pulse did leap. Evidently Killian was correct. As usual. “Ah,” he sighed. “I do like that. Now I’m gonna kiss you senseless, bend you to my will some more. After that? You’ll beg me for it.” “I won’t!” “You will. But I’ll have to do you face down. You must be hurting. And I want to admire my work.” Annoyed, Colton began squirming out of the arms, a futile plan, for the man had a grip strong as steel. A possessive leg trapped his. “Shall I tie you?” Swift, he caught a wrist. “Looks sore, but I might have something soft to bind you with. I have a drawer full of very interesting things.” “Don’t you dare! I don’t need you to tie me to your bed. I’m here of my own free will.” “I know. I just like doing it, that’s all. Now stop squirming and give me your mouth, pretty one. I’m hungry.” His kiss was hungry. Killian tasted like lust. Why was it always like this? It didn’t even take a touch or a kiss; one look from those midnight blues and Colton was his. Where did this need come from? The need to abandon himself and give everything so fully, so completely? On his knees, at his feet, begging in his bed or tied, bound, shackled…the power of the ribbon was all encompassing. As Killian needed to take, Colton needed to submit. The man’s lips were off his mouth now, moving on to his jaw, his neck and at the tight muscle on the top of his shoulder, where Killian bit him. Giving up wondering, Colton laughed. “You’re laughing?” he said with a hot, steamy breath on his shoulder. “Do you need me to bite harder?” “No, Killian.” “I’m trying to make love to you here and your mind is whirling. I can hear you thinking, the gears turning.” “I was just wondering.” The hands and mouth quieted, not completely, they just went into stealth mode, quickening Colton’s breath despite his wandering thoughts. “Wondering what?” “How you do this to me.” Now Killian laughed. “I don’t. It’s always been there. I just pull it out.” “But how do you know?” “It’s in my blood, I just know. Everything. Always.” The hand was between Colton’s legs now, cupping him, taking away even his wonder. Lost also was his worry over the future and the awful path that lay ahead for him, things he must do, things that would put the black threads back into his soul. “You’re trying to make me forget,” he accused. Not angrily, and it came out with a moan. “Colton…shhh. Take your respite here in my bed, let it all go. You are only Colton here, remember? You’re nobody’s hunter in here, you’re only mine. Later. We’ll talk later.” More of Killian was between his legs now. “After you make me come again,” he replied. It did make him talkative. Evil werewolf. “Yes. Now roll over,” he said with a growl. Crimson light glinted, not full-on red, but nonetheless it was strangely…alluring. Colton would obey. They’d talk later. Later, later…later. Knowing he had him right where he wanted him, Killian caressed the red ribbon and kissed him hard, demanding his submission. Then Colton forgot everything, every worry. His defenses were all down and the gates of his self wide open. Killian was off him then, turning him over, admiring his perfect whip marks with his hand when all his pleasure, all his respite disappeared into a blinding wall of heat. Acid on his tongue! Contorting wildly, he twisted away from the touching hand. “Colton?” Killian asked sharply. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?” Bolting upright, his voice deepening, he cursed, “Werewolf!” Killian cocked his head, sensing his territory. Laying a hand on Colton’s shoulder, he nodded and said, “Two of them.” Colton’s body began to vibrate with need, growing hot to the touch, the urge to shift and destroy thrumming in his blood.

“Settle down, Blondie. They’re not hunting.” “They’ll know I’m here,” he hissed. The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “Likely. They’re not idiots. Be still, my pretty shifter. There’s trouble.” Colton’s nostrils flared and acid burned. He was ready for trouble. “What trouble?” Killian slid off the bed. “I don’t know. They’re here to tell me. And they wouldn’t be unless there was something happening.” Colton slid his leg to the floor, his mind already centering on what shape he would choose for his next shift. No mistakes this time. Rested, he relished the prospect of red hot. “Stay here. I mean it! Not one fucking step away from this bed.” “Are you crazy?” “You don’t think I’d have you here for days without checking up on things, do you?” Killian found his pants on the floor and slid into them. “Your friends are most persistent. Looking for you everywhere.” He ducked into his closet and came back out pulling on a shirt. “Christ, I smell like you. Like sex with you.” “What do you mean, looking for me? Why didn’t you tell me?” “You were comatose.” “You’re in danger!” “Hardly.” “I have to go!” “Like bloody hell you do. This is our territory. They can go.” “Killian, it’s too dangerous. They knew I came back to town—” “Zip it, pretty boy. I’ll be back. You stay put.” There was no way he could put Killian in danger. Must leave! How could he have been so selfish? Divining his intention, Killian glared at him. “Do what I tell you, Colton. Knowing you’re here and seeing you in the flesh are two different things.” He disappeared into the closet again, and Colton heard a drawer open and shut. Downstairs and outside, the Lycans were getting closer, approaching the door. Acid burned deeper, corrosive and scalding down his throat. Utterly ridiculous, this reaction. Killian approached along the bed, bringing a scent much more pungent now, the taste of smoldering matches filling Colton’s mouth. When Killian touched his chest, he flinched, his instincts taking over. “Stop that,” he ordered. He took his hand and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m still me and you’re still safe. Back down, Blondie.” Swallowing, he did. “Sit.” Sitting, slowly and unwillingly, he waited for the doorbell to ring and waited for all hell to break loose. “Stay here,” Killian repeated, sliding his fingers along Colton’s wrist. His senses were filled with werewolf—mostly Killian, but the others were calling to him and he didn’t even notice Killian’s quick flick of the wrist as he hooked the cuff around his unsuspecting wrist and snapped the other end around the headboard. His capture took only seconds. How did that thing get around his wrist? Furious, Colton glared at his captor. “Get that off me!” “No. You will remain here. And there’s no shifting permitted. Do you understand me?” Emphasizing his point, he viciously tugged on the ribbon still around Colton’s throat. The doorbell rang from downstairs. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter Seventeen

Leaving him handcuffed to his headboard, Killian tore off without a backward glance. Colton felt it when the door opened and he let the hated dark hunters in, their presence a dart in the heart and setting everything to burning and burning. They’re just men, he reminded himself, not wolves out hunting. Men. Nothing is happening that requires any killing. Nothing! Waiting was pure agony. The other two reeked more fully than Killian, not scents that bespoke of hunting and captured souls, just the scents of eager youth. They were younger werewolves, not many years passed the dreaded, dangerous adolescence. Killian had not lied about that, either, the no-hunting; they kept the locals in line. Hunting was not permitted. Fuck that up and you were on your own. Knowing all of those things didn’t soothe his shifter blood any. That was part and parcel of what had driven the black into him. Too much hunting. Made it hard to endure the presence of werewolves in daily life, and they were everywhere. Not full-bloods like Killian and the two downstairs, they were fewer, but there were mixed bloods everywhere tasting of wickedness, even if they didn’t know what they were, even if the power of transformation was beyond them. Shifters like him, with crappy senses but deadly killer instincts, had it easier than those shifters who sensed deep and far and wide. Colton had sympathy for them. His brother Drayton was halfway in the middle, not quite as deadly, but a hell of a lot more sensitive. He’d been avoiding his family like the plague and it hurt to think of them, even in passing. The handcuff was tight and would come off only if he broke or dislocated his thumb or wrecked the bed frame. Neither option had much appeal, and if either of the two unknowns downstairs set one foot on the stairs, he would shift the entire problem into the vortex: the cuffs, the headboard, the very bed itself. It wouldn’t be necessary. Killian had them to hand. Of course he did; control was his thing. Yet…it was time to go. Face… whatever. Whomever. It wasn’t like they could kill him. Take more than one shifter to get a single lick in—two, most likely three or more. At once. Thank the benefits of constant hunting. Not that they would try, at least not yet. They wanted to hunt him to death so it looked faultless. Killing Colton in his own home would be disastrous to their cause. Plus, Drayton and his father would not stand for it. There’d be vengeance. Kill them all! Colton needed to get all nine Council members together in one place at the same time where he could kill them all at once. Doing so would take all his power, all the power of his gift, and maybe drain away his very life, but that was forfeit anyways. Duty was duty. And the duty was his, not Killian’s. Bella Luna! Stupid Killian. How he hated that man’s insight. Colton did not like that Killian was smarter than him. It was hard work keeping up. Colton had wanted the wolf to take his life— not the other way around. The danger was his, not the werewolf who had never hunted. He’d pay Bella Luna, not Killian Frost. That seemed oddly important—why? Downstairs the door opened and one of the stinky, moldy wolves left, his departure like a cool breeze on a hot summer day-instant relief. The other, unfortunately, remained. Restless and impatient, Colton tried to get comfortable with his arm imprisoned. Now that he had no pleasant distractions, his back began to hurt and his ass, because he was sitting, decided every welt was on fire. Exhaustion was creeping back into his bones. Burning from the threat, he longed to shift. That awful taste-dead things-was back in his mouth. In short, his life sucked. His body needed more rest, days of it. Evil Killian had known this, hadn’t he? Why did he care? Colton simply couldn’t figure it out. Why had he come for him in the first place? Killian was gorgeous, a perfect male specimen. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t have his pick of human or werewolf companionship, male or female or whatever combination of them he wanted. Why come for him? They should hate each other. Instead, they complemented each other. So unnatural. Colton would save him. Killian was simply too…magnificent to see destroyed. Too much intelligence and far too much insight and wisdom to lose—it would be bad for the balance to have some lesser werewolf take over his place. The world needed his cruelty, his whip hand. He needed it! If he considered the thought buried underneath his main thoughts any further, he wouldn’t do it. It would hurt like hell, so he didn’t pause to consider, he just did it. Getting a good, tight grip, he took his thumb in his more powerful right hand, sucked in a deep breath and twisted as hard as he could, pulling outward at the same time. Red hot! It wasn’t like he’d ever done such a thing before, but he accomplished his goal. The sound of his thumb dislocating or breaking or whatever he did to it was not nice—cartilage crunched. Flesh ripped. Colton bore it as he bore all pain, in silence. Colton Décarie was used to being ripped apart, and this was just a single digit. Pain was already simmering into a gentle red wave. The red flared up again when he pulled his hand out of the cuff, since it was still very tight despite the horrible looseness of his mangled thumb. Shifting would be necessary in order to leave this house. He must go undetected by his watchers until he was far enough from Killian’s house that nothing could be traced back here. His ruined thumb would be repaired soon enough. Colton was tempted to raid Killian’s closet again, but why bother? The shift would just take it all. Whoever was downstairs with Killian could see him in the buff. He no longer cared. Then he would shift into some domestic animal or other and go home. A nice dog. Humans liked nice dogs, so he purposefully knew lots of dogs. His only regret would be not saying a proper goodbye. The tally sheet was skewed far to one side; he owed the charismatic werewolf so much. And would leave without so much as a thank you, repaying him best by protecting him the only way he knew how. For Killian’s sake, he must make it appear they were in league with each other. Not lovers, that was not possible, but he would, for the sake of appearances, go rogue. It was likely Killian’s line anyway. Nothing else would work. And wasn’t it true? He’d gone rogue. Turned traitor. It hurt to do it, somewhere inside him where the black once lived, but in the bathroom he cut the red ribbon from his neck, caressed it in goodbye and laid it on the opposite pillow. Farewell, wicked one. Sensing him first, Killian glared at him with both fury and astonishment as Colton walked into the living room stark naked, while his slower-minded companion simply stared in astonishment. A second later, fear took over from the astonishment. Ignoring Killian, Colton looked directly into the young werewolf’s eyes and said, “Peace werewolf.” Young as he was, he’d been taught restraint and had good self-control. For a brief second, his eyes sparked red before he willed his killer blood back into submission. Staring openly, his eyes took in every inch of him, the wonderment unconcealed, stunned as he was by the strange apparition before him. Satisfied the unknown wolf would behave, Colton finally turned his attention to Killian. Such fury. Killian didn’t bother willing his crimson eyes away, letting it out fully and brilliantly, obvious to all. For a second or two, Colton felt true fear. “Mr. Frost,” he said formally. “Taking your leave, Mr. Décarie?” he asked icily in his werewolf voice. “I understand my…friends are getting persistent and annoying?” Ah, God. His voice sounded horrible, as cruel and uncaring as Killian’s, full of his traitor blood. “You said we must leave them be. It is becoming…annoying. Yes.” Killian kept his eyes on Colton alone. “All three of them,” he hinted. “’Tis nothing, then.” “As you say.”

“I’ll have more information for you soon.” The red intensified. Colton didn’t know how it was possible, as the light was already beyond hot, big traffic stoplights. “You better,” Killian growled. “Two days. Same place, same time.” “That’s all the time I’ll give you before I come looking.” The astonishment on the younger one’s face was funny. Colton resisted smiling. Mind you…he was supposed to be unhinged. “Such a temperamental werewolf.” “Yes,” he agreed. “Bring my stuff with you.” Not that it consisted of much, but Colton would like his wallet back, since replacing I.D. was such a pain in the ass. “I might.” All necessary messages were sent and received. He could leave now, and yes, he would meet Killian as promised. Couldn’t very well go to his death without a final goodbye. Ready, he turned to look at the littler werewolf, one his size, a nice looking young man who bore the Frost stamp quite obviously upon him. A nephew? Cousin? “I’m gonna shift now. Will it freak out your bitty friend here?” Bitty friend was mightily insulted. Quivering with a mixture of fear and hate, he glared back. Yes, Killian was right; he wasn’t stupid. “No, I won’t freak out,” he hissed. Then, with a pale imitation of Killian’s wickedest smirk, added, “Probably don’t know anything but your wimpy wolf anyways.” Aha! A challenge. Feisty little bastard. Colton’s new plan would mean a double shift, a painful double, maybe the most painful he’d ever felt, but it would help cement the rogue image if he wandered into forbidden range. Another vow about to crumble: I shall not take on the forms of the forb idden. Colton had always been a good student. Doubly so in the shifting arts. His Prince had taught him well. Very few shifters in the world had the ability, and trying out his idea would be good practice for things to come. Smelling werewolf so close up his nose would make it all so easy. Acid in my mouth! Killian looked ready to murder his relative. “Did that sound like a challenge to you, Mr. Frost?” Colton asked with a sweet smile. “No,” he snapped. “Not at all.” “He needs teaching, no?” “I’ll take care of it.” “Allow me.” Having his audience’s full attention, he walked sinuously to the far side of the room, toward the soon-to-be-gone couch, side table and lamp. Killian could add it to his bill. The man had such good taste, it would be a shame. Alas. With a flash of panic, Killian grabbed Bitty’s arm and yanked, dragging him toward the doorway. Guess he liked that one; this would have been a good opportunity to get rid of him with no evidence remaining whatsoever. Colton closed his eyes, visualizing a non-existent thing. There was no DNA to unravel, no blueprint to read. All he had was his formidable power at his disposal, an unlimited imagination and the picture in his head of a thing he’d once seen. And seeing, had known the power to make it existed in his blood also. From his pool of talent he chose for himself his personal form of forbidden and let the shifting vortex consume him. Ever hungry, it eagerly ripped him apart atom by atom. Forget red. The pain went straight to white-hot. No wonder it was forbidden. Mon Dieu! Fucking nasty! Burning. Burning! The flare of white was all consuming, a star gone supernova. His consciousness wavered, the instant of being bodiless lasted an interminably long time…and then…he was there. Reality burst in on him, a crazy rush tainted with spikes, not thorns…spikes! White-hot! His hunting eyes saw red. Ha! Take that, Mr. Killing Frost! Whatever it was he looked like, it shut Bitty’s sassy mouth with a big snap, and even Killian looked utterly horrified. Finally. Wings! Big, long wings made of leather, not feathers. They spanned almost the width of the big room, tip to tip at least twenty feet, maybe more. Big enough that if he practiced, he might actually take wing. I can fly! Caught up with his miraculous creation, he barely noticed the two werewolves, even if his new consciousness was overpowering and missed nothing, saw everything. Each beat of their thumping hearts registered in his mind, taking up only a small bit of space, and he heard every breath taken. Odder still, he felt fully in command of himself. Killian’s scent still controlled him, a red ribbon made of molecules taken up into his snout. Wishing to admire his hands, he stretched them out in front of them. Rather ugly, with long claws and glittery golden scales. I’m gold. Damn. Now he’d be Blondie forever. It just wasn’t fair. How he wanted to be something else, something cooler, not a dull, beaten gold with just a shimmer of red at the edge of tightly linked scales. The Prince could speak in both this form and the wingless one he favored. Could Colton? Dare he try? Would be so handy. “Do you like my wolf, little Frost?” Colton said with no trouble at all. Aside from the wings and scales and long tail, he was mostly man-shaped, just slightly bent over, his spine altered to support the wings which, despite their appearance, were lightweight, the leather translucent and the weight insubstantial. Fucking incredib le! Forgetting himself, Killian reverted to informality. “Colton? Jesus fucking Christ!” “Am I pretty?” “Ah,” he said, still staring. “Yes. Always pretty.” Killian’s relative looked ready to faint. Fine-tuned, Colton’s ears could hear the off-cadence of his breathing and his scales sensed the heat converging on his forehead. Tracking eyes followed each slight movement. “You will not harm him,” Killian said, regaining his composure. “Certainly not,” he agreed. His voice sounded like his own, just more…musical. Full of magic. “He does look very tasty, though. But he is yours.” “Mine,” Killian agreed, but he wasn’t referring to just the young man. In his new, made-expressly-for-the-purpose-of-killing-werewolves form, Colton still agreed. “Always.” A brief pulse of arousal thrummed in him, but he reined it in before it showed. This new shape came with a very lusty nature. “Two days?” “Agreed.” Killian walked closer, his fear gone. “Then we’ll hunt?” No! Must not hurt Killian. “Just me.” “No.” “Death shall be mine. Not yours.” “They are mine to protect,” Killian stated. “Not yours.” It was true. No wonder he was being so damned stubborn. That’s why fate had brought them together, dark to light and lover to lover. “Stupid Bella Luna,” he said. She’d filled Killian up for a reason, and that very same reason was why he’d been born with so many gifts. Neither of them could escape her. Their paths had converged. His path led to protecting the shifters, and Killian’s trail led to protecting the dark hunters from the same threat. “Be careful, Lycan,” he sang in his inhuman voice. “Be careful, shape-shifter.” Colton didn’t want to give up his wonderful new creation, another gift given to him, knowledge delivered from the hand of the best shifter in the world. The Prince would be proud of him. The shape felt so natural, so right. Wouldn’t do, though, would it? He couldn’t violate their first directive to keep hidden from the humans in this form. That was the reason he was about to become a murderer nine times over. It had to be given up. Letting it go hurt, oh God, how it hurt. Not much ripping pain with respect to overall shape—he wasn’t so far from human after all—it was the going smaller that hurt, always did, for some inexplicable reason. The shedding of extraneous matter came with a great cost in the suffering department. And to become the German shepherd he chose required a significant shedding, even if he made for a bloody big dog. More thorns. Fire ran in his veins instead of blood. Now he’d have to find a word to describe what lived beyond white hot. And, once again, he was blond. Gone was the red hunting shadow in his eyes. Gone was half the color spectrum too. He wasn’t quite color-blind, but some hues were missing. To make up for the loss, things smelled a thousand times stronger, and what he smelled was sweat and fear—the nephew who’d been taught the lesson not to underestimate any shifter. And Killian smelled…delicious. Stupid werewolf. With rough hands, Killian forcibly moved his nephew, or whatever he was, since he obviously couldn’t function on his own, and made room for Colton to pass. Like any good dog, he followed his master to the door and waited patiently for him to open it. The other Frost was out of sight, so Killian was able to bend down and speak to him in his big canine ear. “I am going to beat the living shit out of you,” he promised. With no voice, Colton had only a tongue and licked the angry face, his mouth. “Stop it!” Killian whispered in a menacing voice. “It ain’t gonna save you. Just wait until I get you alone again.” Whining his doggy whine, Colton thumped his tail once on the floor. Still furious, Killian grabbed him by the snout like he would a bad dog. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be the one to punish you. No one else. You understand?” Giving it all up, he woofed once. “Yes.” “Then go.” And Killian opened the door. In the soft glow of afternoon daylight, Colton made his way home, shedding the scent of werewolf on his fur as he went. Too bad, he was really beginning to like that scent of smoke and lust and darkness and pleasure. Fascinating combination. As he ran, padding across grass, asphalt and gravel, his doggy tongue lolled happily and for the first time in what felt like forever, Colton Décarie enjoyed the wonderfulness that was life.

Chapter Eighteen

A Thread of Deepest Black

It was really howling out, the wind ripping through the trees, flinging loose branches everywhere and raining leaves and dust in like parts. No real rain yet, but it was coming. The willows swung like a beaded necklace. It was good nature was in the midst of a raging fury because it matched Killian Frost’s temper completely. If Blondie wasn’t under that big fucking tree waiting for him, he was going to kill him. Or something equally as unpleasant. Never mind the not-being-there part—Killian just plain wanted to kill him. Maybe his demented, pretty shifter would get his wish after all: death b y werewolf. His senses were on full alert. Colton was near; he could feel him, sense his very presence, and at the moment there were no other shifters about, but for how long? Cautious, he skirted the grove of trees and entered it from the opposite direction, letting the dark embrace him. Nobody could slink through the night like a werewolf. All the pesky humans must be home safe in their beds. It was a night made for hunting, and it was good they were gone. Not that he was interested; it was just safer that way. A wildly swinging branch swatted his face and stung his lip in a manner reminiscent of his leather crop on bare flesh. Enjoying the momentary pain, Killian paused and let the Lovely Moon call to his blood through her smothering blanket of cloud. No, definitely no shifters around, except Colton Décarie. Blackness ruled under the tree. With no one about, no nosy humans nearby in the park, he let his power flood him for a moment, let his eyes turn crimson and heighten his vision, banishing all dark secrets. Much b etter. Sneaking up on a shifter was not possible, even one such as Colton who was made for killing, not sensing. His enemy’s watchful eyes were on him instantly as he entered under the canopy. As usual, his first sight of the shifter took his breath away. Breathing was replaced by instant lust, hot and urgent and demanding. This time, however, he was still so mad at him that he got hold of his emotions quickly, releasing all his extra body heat into the stormy night. Killian wished for his wolf’s growl. His human voice was close enough, deep and menacing as he stopped inches from Colton’s hot body. “I hope you know how badly I want to—” Pressing tightly and annoyingly against his lips, Colton’s fingers stopped further comment on all the horrid things he wanted to do to him, was going to do to him. “Shhh,” Colton whispered, putting his mouth close to his ear. “Shhh,” he repeated. Silenced, Killian made a low growl of agreement. He’d kill him later. The fingers lowered only to be replaced by Colton’s mouth, a hot desperate kiss Killian’s body answered immediately. Passion sparked between them as it always did, and he kissed back with all his want and all his anger, his tongue savoring that elusive flavor that was all Colton, a taste beyond compare and his most dangerous narcotic. Then he remembered how angry he was. His mouth turned rough and cruel and his hand snatched out and pulled hard on the hair at Colton’s nape, at the downy soft spot that drove him crazy. Blondie whimpered deep in his throat, thrilling him wildly, and tilted his head back in submission, exposing his long, white neck. Impossible to refuse. Killian bit him there on that unprotected, sweet flesh, leaving tooth marks hard enough to bruise purple and deep enough to hurt. Ah. So good. Colton gasped and pressed his chest and abdomen tight against him, his body straining to come closer while his head tried to get away from the sharp teeth. His pulse was thrumming in his ears. Colton’s beat under his fingertips and against his chest, rapid and strong. Warm fingers slid up under the hem of his shirt, the touch so arousing the red in his eyes flashed brighter. Paper crinkled and a folded corner poked his abdomen as it was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The shirt was pulled back down, fingers trailing deliciously against his belly on their way out. Surprised, Killian released his hold on his hair. Blondie bent his head forward, touched him forehead to forehead and blew hot breath on his face, a deep sigh. Regret? Time froze for a moment, the windy night disappeared and he forgot everything else, even his anger. Then Colton kissed him again, sweeter, but with the same sense of desperation. His lips parted, Killian meant to speak, but once again the fingers silenced him. Colton shook his head—no words allowed—and looked into Killian’s red, red eyes with an unreadable expression. Irritated, Killian hastily withdrew Colton’s wallet, left behind at his house, from his own pocket and handed it over. For another few seconds, they gazed at each other, almost wistfully on Colton’s part, and then the shifter exited the overhanging willow branches without looking back. Why did he always have to let him go? All they’d had together was hours, a pitiful few hours, and Killian wanted more, wanted to touch Colton when he felt like it, wanted to be free to have a conversation that wasn’t something he had to force from unwilling lips. Every single thing about his shifter lover was a mystery, and he hungered for a clue or two, longed for a bloody minute to have him all to himself. No. More than a minute, a big fucking chunk of minutes. No time limit! The endless, unsatisfied wanting was unfamiliar. He was used to instant gratification, getting his own way, and he hated not getting it now. If he wanted something, someone, he reached out and took it or them, simple as that. Not by force, that was never necessary, things just came his way—people came to his bed willingly, or to his ropes, his chains, his attic room. He gave what was needed. And what he needed was usually satisfied in return. Except this. What he needed—what he wanted most—was Colton Décarie, and he couldn’t have him. Frustrated, still angry, still aroused, Killian waited under the tree for fifteen minutes, long enough to ensure Blondie got away without there being any association with him, another annoying thing. Hiding their true relationship sucked. In fact, just about everything sucked at the moment. Not only couldn’t he kill Blondie, he couldn’t kill Lucien, as much as the little bastard deserved it. His cousin had a big mouth. After Colton had escaped out the door in his guise as a monster-sized dog, Killian had beaten most of the sass out of Lucien—well, what was left of him, anyway, after that crazy shifter stunt left him speechless. At last, something that shut that big trap of his. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that thing, anyway? Okay—he knew. He’d been working very hard on denying that knowledge and was gonna keep on doing it. Life was easier that way. Wings. Big leathery wings like a bat, only bats didn’t have scales, did they? Am I pretty? Christ! Only his crazy shifter would ask him that. And he had been very pretty, yes, still wearing Colton’s eyes and most of his human body. Bella Luna! Limping and bleeding, Lucien had gone straight to his father and blabbed the whole miserable episode. Now everyone seemed to think he was some kind of god. Normally Killian would have liked that, except he had to gather everyone together for a family meeting, nasty to begin with, and tell them all to shut the fuck up before they ruined everything. When it became apparent the order hadn’t sunk in, he’d had to transform into the new-and-improved nasty Mr. Frost and threaten them with instant death. That worked. They wanted answers; he gave none. All he could say was something was happening and the clock had to tick away without their assistance. Top on their list of panicked worry was, naturally, what exactly it was Lucien had seen in his living room. Lying was pointless, so he said nothing. Drove them all mad and madder still when he explained that Colton Décarie was not an exotic pet he’d somehow managed to tame and domesticate, he was a…business associate. Their collaboration was business, and only time would tell how it was going to work out. It was pointless telling them he was going to die for that business arrangement. Afterward, he had given his mother his Last Will and Testament. Shoulda done that first. Sure shut her up in a hurry. She may have thought he was just being…cautious? Stupid? Dramatic? But his father knew, oh yes. Did Killian ever do anything he didn’t mean? Never. The paper crinkled against his stomach as he rose from the picnic table. It tormented him. What was it? It was killing him, that simple thing. Curiosity took so much of his mental concentration that he forgot to tamp down his blood until he got to his car in the parking lot. A shambling, lanky form emerged from behind the only other car remaining in the lot, almost catching him with his hunting eyes. “Looking to purchase anything?” he asked, entirely stoned. “Fuck off,” Killian said. Now there was a good excuse to allow selective hunting. Christ, what a scab b y waste of meat. It would seem his two minute taste of Colton was not enough to assuage his temper or his hunger. Humans had their own worries, and escapes from those worries. What was it to him? Leaving the dealer to his own lonesome devices, he drove home, speeding, the paper still safe and warm against his flesh and begging him to hurry. The paper turned out to be a map. Trust Blondie to be annoying. A map of some time-forsaken small town in England, miles from London, miles from civilization, with a lone, dead-end road circled. Under the penned-in circle was a date and time, four days hence. A scribbled note on the back said, and damn Colton had nasty handwriting, Sorry. If you can’t come I’ll understand. Fuck you Blondie! I’ll b e there…if only to kick your ass. The Council of Nine ruled from London. Of course Colton would have to go there, go to them and do whatever it was the little bastard was keeping secret from him, and damn, there was a secret. He knew it in his blood the way he knew peoples’ secret desires. Digging it out would have cost Colton his honor, and that was one price he couldn’t ask. Keeping that honor intact was necessary. Besides, the time was rapidly approaching when he’d learn what that secret was anyway, they’d be hunting together. All he had to do was be patient. Didn’t mean it wasn’t eating him up with curiosity. Now that he was in with both feet, he could appreciate all the reasons Colton had wanted to die, all the unspoken ones that had nothing to do with hunting. Sure, he didn’t want to hunt anymore, that was plain. He was worn to the bone. It was that shift in his living room, the one in front of Lucien that gave Killian so many answers to all the other reasons. Colton was protecting so many things…everything. All at once. Oh yes. Nothing could chain a naïve, do-gooder shifter like duty. Duty to the humans, to protect them from his kind, duty to protect the shifter-werewolf existence from discovery, and even, and this surprised Killian, duty to the werewolves who didn’t hunt—the innocent ones. Colton was protecting all of them… protecting him. The last piece of the puzzle had been given to him by accident. Colton never meant to reveal who he was protecting specifically—his Prince. I cannot speak of that, either—truly, he could not. Those wings! Told a dark tale, an impossible one, but told it nonetheless. If the Council wanted to get rid of Colton because he was gifted, and Killian now understood how deep that went, then they really must want to get rid of that other one, the most gifted of all, the Prince of Thorns. Best of all, fitting that puzzle together foretold a good thing, totally unexpected: it meant that the Prince was a good one like Blondie, not corrupt, not full of the seeping black. Thank Bella Luna it was so! Ah, Colton. Shuddering, Killian considered what horrors would have happened if he’d been a lesser man, a weaker werewolf, and took the pretty blond shifter’s life, freely given. Bella Luna had chosen him well, hadn’t she? Lured him with the ultimate bait too, a beautiful blond man begging at his feet, the perfect tinder for his burning match and shining light for his dark side. What a cruel bitch! Couldn’t she have let him have him a while longer? Just one more night. Too bad he only had four of them left.

Chapter Nineteen

More rain. It always rained when he came here and out of spite, surely. Didn’t much matter, Killian hated it anyway. Strange place, England—it felt old, so very old, a sensation steeped in his bones and inescapable as long as he stood on its lands. On some level, he knew his kind had been roving over ancient Albion from shore to shore for a long time. America was young, new and totally lacked all those echoes of ancient days. No wonder there was less hunting back home. There were no weird tingling sensations coming from every direction to draw you in and stoke

up the blood. Giving himself plenty of time to reach his destination, he left London early, borrowing a car from a suspicious and distant relative he’d never met and would never see again. The car was a solid thing, comfortable, and he could sleep in the back if necessary, folded tight like a pretzel, but it was doable, so he’d not even bothered with a hotel room. Couldn’t, in fact, remember the last time he slept properly. Was it that first night when he’d found Colton at the mall, half-dead and injured? Sleep had not come easily then because Colton had been distracting, twitching and waking intermittently in a panic with teeth bared and all but freaking him out. Plus, of course, having him so near aroused Killian, wounded or not. Sleep must be unnecessary to werewolves at times like this. He felt good. Eager. For what, he couldn’t say, and he refused to consider most of the eagerness could be attributed to the fact that he’d soon be seeing his pretty one. That had nothing to do with it. This can’t b e right, he thought, checking the map. He was in the right place, only the place was nothing, a mere ruin. It wasn’t quite dark yet, so the marked place was visible in all its hideous glory. It might have been a hotel or manor of some sort, only now it was a burned-out shell of a stone building. Weeds had overtaken blackened cement. His imagination supplied the smell of burnt, wet and smoke. Leaving the car safe at the end of the drive, hidden behind an overgrown, vine-covered bush, he got out, stretched—cars were always too small for him—and wondered what the hell he was doing here. Isolation had its good points. He’d passed the nearest farm miles back and nothing else lived nearby except sheep. It was a good place for sensing new arrivals. There was nothing nearby to interfere, not even nosy humans and their damnable curiosity. If Colton was already here, he would have sensed him by now. He was alone and took the opportunity to check the place out more thoroughly. Took a leak. Admired the roses gone wild and blooming madly. It was what it appeared to be; a burned-out hotel. It made him edgy, this place, so much so he didn’t even get bored as he waited. Something irritating hummed under the ground here, just out of his range of perception. Darkness fell, a smooth slide into home base. The night caressed him. He loved it back. The specified time on the map was not actually a time, merely a statement: dark. Yeah, okay. It was dark. Where the hell was Colton Décarie? A prickle of worry gnawed at him—what if something had happened to him? What if the Council was on to him? Or had taken care of him already? Something moved in the distance, a flickering in the grass. His eyes caught it at the same time his blood reacted to the presence of shifter blood. Colton! His scent arrived before him, subtle, but Killian was so attuned to it the slightest trace would catch his attention. Another dog. Colton came through the tall grass in the form of a huge, solid black and very hairy dog with a sweet face. Proofs personified—never judge a dog by its sweet face. They still had teeth. The dog’s coat was shiny and wet and its feet very big. Before approaching, Colton sniffed the air and had a good look around, saturating the area with the odor of wet dog. Killian could have told him nobody was around, but better safe than sorry. Shaking his fur energetically took time and Killian waited for him to come closer before finally giving up. Following the dog led him to a fairly clean cement pad behind a massive pink rose bush, out of sight from every direction except the one he’d come from. A flash of white, and the dog disappeared. A big naked man replaced it, silent as he paid the shift price in pain and suffering, offered up the fee demanded in tears and thorns. “Killian,” he breathed after a moment. Words abandoned him and he held out an arm instead, fingers beckoning. Colton slipped into his embrace as if they’d been lovers forever. Mindful of the situation, Killian allowed himself to enjoy it only for a moment, silently cursing Bella Luna for giving them so little time. “You came,” Colton said. “I was kinda hoping you would’ve stayed home, stayed safe.” “What is life without the hunt?” he replied in typical werewolf fashion. “A longer one,” he answered back. “But I’m…pleased to see you.” “Really?” “I think I missed you.” “Is that so?” Colton laughed softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’ll hate you again later.” “That’s good, because I’m really pissed at you. I’ve spent most of the last few days imagining a great many ways to punish you.” “Just punish?” “Actually, no. More like kill you. But I’ve simmered down a bit. I only get mad now when I breathe.” “Then don’t breathe. It’s time to go.” Blondie stepped back out of his arms. “Take off your clothes,” he added with a mischievous smile. “Oh? Want something, do you?” “Might have time for that if you hurry up.” Nothing could make him move faster than that kind of suggestion from that yummy mouth. As the rain fell harder, he stripped, folding all his clothes and belongings into a neat pile. Naked, he waited as he was stared at, and then grew hard looking at Colton’s beautiful naked body. “Come here,” he demanded. “Not here.” “Yes, here. I’m waiting, pretty one.” Ah, delicious—a whimper of submission. Getting chilled without his fur coat and the rain pelting him, Colton came. Killian didn’t feel the weather at all; he was hot. When their bodies touched, he got hotter, hungrier. It had been far too long since he’d tasted that wonderful lush mouth, so he took it hard and fast, rough and eager, tongue demanding everything. Pretty boy gave himself fully and kissed him back with longing, in need. Their bodies pressed together. Aggressive, Killian pushed against him, demanding more. Colton began trying to extract himself from his grip, and Killian realized he was pawing him rather violently, hands rough and forceful on rigid but delicate flesh. “Killian!” he yelped in response to the hard shove of his knee up between his legs. Must stop this! “Damn it!” he snapped back. “You drive me crazy.” It was very hard releasing that wonderful silky body part and easing up on his restraining hold. “Put your stuff in the trunk of the car,” Colton said. “And come with me.” “Where are we going?” “Some place nice. Warm.” Then shifter boy smiled at him, all devilish delight in his eyes. “You’ll run with me tonight, wolf to wolf.” Killian liked that devilish grin very much, revealing as it did a side of Colton he’d never seen. “You sure of this? I already want to be nasty to you, and you know what shifting to full wolf does to me.” “A risk I’ll have to take.” “I’ll take you now. Hard!” “You’re so impatient. Put your stuff away, you’ll need it later.” No, I won’t, he argued silently. “Fine.” Walking around stark naked, fully aroused and in the middle of nowhere was particularly odd, somewhat primal, and he kind of liked it. Making the run quick, he returned to the rose bush just as the rain began to pound them. “Let’s hunt,” Colton encouraged with that challenging smile. “Each other. Come get me!” “You little bastard,” he said, his words, unfortunately, lost into the shift glow. Danger signals went off in his head, which he ignored to the best of his ability. Gravel and dust rattled and levitated and got sucked into the vortex, creating something bigger than the mass one human body could produce alone. Ah, Blondie. It was his inner wolf again, all lustrous golden pelt and luminous yellow-green eyes and big teeth. The sight of that killer wolf, once again, made him shudder before his blood consumed him and began tearing him apart. The blond wolf lowered itself to the ground, unthreatening, ever watchful. Proud of himself, Killian noted the wolf wore only black ankle socks now. Whatever the hell this place was, or had been, it was steeped in power. Shifter power too, not werewolf power. The shift ripped and tore his body with malicious glee, delivering a pain he’d never felt before, not even the first time he’d transformed. It was bloody awful, a taste of tears and thorns. Stupid shifters. They could keep their nasty pain. Dark and light—they eyed each other in their new forms, took each other’s measure once again. Neither found the other lacking. Killian took all his frustration, his anger and his lust into his wolf when he phased, and it seethed in his blood. Narrowing his crimson eyes at his nemesis, he growled. Lifting one side of his huge wolf’s mouth, Colton snarled back, very nasty too, revealing white, glistening canine teeth, ripping-apart-werewolf-flesh teeth. There was no intent in the reply, but it whispered of death, nonetheless. Then the great killing machine rose off its haunches and leapt away, agile and swift. One single bound and he was gone. The chase was on! Oh how he’d dreamt of such a chase! Killian’s blood sang with thrill, with delight, with power. Sleek and supple, his body obeyed every command and every wish as soon as it formed in his head. Powerful muscles propelled him forward, mighty as a killer wind raging, while his nose effortlessly captured scent molecules from the air and led him unerringly to his quarry. Bella Luna whispered in his ear, called his name and, for the first time ever, Killian Frost hunted. Such a hunt it was! And his reward at the end would be sweet flesh. Not to kill, not to rip and tear, but his prey would wind up in his mouth all the same. His werewolf blood lusted; it knew what it hunted and what it wanted most. Unfortunately, the great, tawny wolf would not be caught, not until it wanted to be. It was beyond swift—a speeding bullet. Faster than a bullet, seemingly carried along on an invisible wind, a thing with magic feet racing over field and gully and bush without ever touching the ground. Colton was impossibly beautiful, utterly magnificent. Killian’s vanity did not take the hit all that badly. Killian knew how powerful and wonderful he was in his own right, a prime werewolf, and likely one of the best made in the world. He was huge. Fast. A killing shadow made of darkness. But Colton Décarie was something else, and whatever was thrumming through the ground here fed him up like a full moon would feed him. It sang to his shifter blood. Like a dog walking with its master, Colton zigzagged as he ran, covering almost twice the ground as Killian did and still kept ahead of him, flashing his black socks. Impossibly long leaps sailed him over vast stretches of ground. His fur glittered and shimmered in the brief patches of pale moonlight. Their inequality did not dim the thrill of the hunt one little bit. For a brief moment, Killian recalled Colton’s story of his hunt in the desert outside of Las Vegas, and how he’d chased after eight werewolves by himself, some of those werewolves having stolen souls powering them. He’d thought it absurdly unfair at the time, eight against two. But it had really been eight to one, and it had been unfair. They’d all been slain. Now he knew why. There was no escape. You will not b e forgiven. Had they been afraid? Did they have time for it? I hunted them and picked ’em off one at a time… No, they’d had no time to fear the reaper. It would seem Colton’s energy was not without limit, and he slowed. To say he tired would be stretching it, but he did slow, urging Killian to follow, teasing him. A long line of trees grew thick between two grassy fields, and Colton led him there, snaking through branches and puddles and small creeks almost like a tour guide. It was incredibly exciting, this passage through time. Truly, Killian felt he’d gone back in time to a more primitive way, the way of the werewolf. It was a gift, this fantastic journey. Colton was giving him a gift. The knowledge just hit him, that sweet truth—Colton was doing this all for him. A lover’s token. My lover! Killian took the thoughtful token and repaid it by letting the thrill consume him as it was meant. He chased. Doubling back, appearing from nowhere, Colton chased him. It was most frightening and terribly thrilling at the same time, a sample of a life he’d never otherwise know. They traded off, acting as hunter and hunted in turn. Time flew and evening turned into night. What a wondrous gift! Like all hunts, this one too must end. A stone cottage lay on the crest of a hill, surrounded by thick woods on one side and pasturage on the other, an idyllic setting. The air was saturated with shifter scent, ripe and powerful, and Colton’s scent lay overtop of it all, sugary and delicious.

Rain pounded down, bouncing off the gravel of the long drive. Colton slid into it like a runner hitting third base, spraying up gravel and rainwater—he’d really been flying. At the end of the slide, he leapt one last magnificent leap high in the air. The wolf dissolved mid-air and Blondie’s human body came back out still in mid-air and thudded to the ground into a graceful crouch. Show-off! Enjoying the spectacle, panting from the exertion and utterly overwhelmed, Killian slid onto the gravel as well, and as he skidded, approaching Colton, he transformed from wolf to man just as gracefully. When he reached his elusive prey, he was fully human. Quicker in human form, he deftly snatched out a hand and snagged Colton by the ankle. With one tug, he was all his. Colton’s squeak of alarm was most satisfying. Almost like capturing real prey, real, delicious, human meat. Flinging his body overtop, Killian flattened Colton into the wet rocks. “Mine!” he crowed in triumph. “Ouch!” Colton cried. “Get off me, you big lummox!” Oh, but he didn’t want to get off him, he wanted to get off in him. He was hot, he was hard and he was ready. Naked shifter boy was his. Caught! Spreading his captive’s legs, he pressed himself between them, barely noticing the painful rocks beneath his knees or the rain pouring down over them. He meant to have Colton and meant to have him now. Snaking one arm out of the restraining hold, Colton twisted himself toward freedom and grabbed a handful of his sopping black hair and yanked. It hurt, yes it did, but it aroused him further. Sometimes he lik ed them to fight back. But in that split second of hurt, he also realized his surroundings: on his knees, in the rain, outside on the gravel and about to commit violent sexual assault. Not good for one’s self respect. Part of him might be a rutting pig, but not all of him. His throbbing penis ached with the denial of its want when he pulled himself off, shoved the knees down and instead took up straddling Colton in a most perverse way. Panting and excited, he took a few seconds to settle down, to breathe. The absurdness of his situation made him smile down at his subdued victim. “Please tell me there’s a bed in there somewhere.” “You disgusting werewolf!” “Yes.” “Get off!” “Beg me.” “Fuck you!” “Ooh! Temper, temper. But okay. You want to?” Well, that caught his attention. His shock was funny. Seemed to make him all but forget he was in the muddy driveway being attacked by a randy, temperamental werewolf. So responsive. And all his! “Killian…” “Beg.” Ah, there it was—the stubbornness. The war fought with his rational self was short. “Killian, please. Make love to me. Inside.” Well, damn. That was downright cheating. Begging and sucking up at the same time was definitely cheating. “Fine. I will. I think it’s raining out here, anyways.” Since it was his fault, Killian picked out the rocks embedded in skin and brushed off the smaller pieces with an evil forcefulness he found quite stirring. Blondie’s skin glistened wetly in the dull light from the front window and rivulets of water flowed off his sodden hair—all in all, a very affecting sight. A loose stone revealed a hidden key, and Colton let him into the shifter stronghold.

Chapter Twenty

There was indeed a bed, a nice big comfy-looking one with lots of comforters, quilts and pillows. The cottage was only one big room, a small kitchen, bedroom, dressing room and office all at the same time. It probably looked exactly the same three hundred years previous. Somebody had probably added a bath; there was a single closed door. The place was entirely quaint, right down to the wood fire burning in the ancient stone hearth. Somebody was disgustingly sentimental. Yuck. Killian’s released prey was toweling his face with his discarded T-shirt, but Killian simply shook himself like the wolf he was, spraying water. “Colton.” The toweling ceased. “Leave that.” Not quite leaving it, he brushed the shirt down his chest and that enticing arrow of darker blond hair beneath his navel. With a wicked half smile, Colton continued down, rubbing it over his cock, stirring it to a hardness that sprang back up when he dropped the wet shirt. “I’m beginning to think you’re not such an innocent thing after all, my pretty one.” It was his nature; Killian prowled, closer and closer, slow and sinuously, enjoying the shocked delight in Colton’s big hazel eyes. If he was to devote the time to considering it, he might have to conclude that Blondie was…happy. Well! Unfortunately, he couldn’t pounce, the footboard being too high. Instead he backed his favorite shifter up to the bed and, with his own wicked smile, picked him up completely off the floor and tossed him onto the pile of fluff and feathers. The bed creaked unhappily. Colton had to weigh at least one-ninety, despite his lack of padding. Before the bouncing settled, Killian did pounce, landing perfectly on the splayed body and in full domination over what was his. Now that he’d taken back control of himself, he could take his time, savor their last hours together. Blondie’s skin was as hot as his. Filled up with the excitement of a hunt that didn’t end in ripping, blood and killing, Colton was smiling and laughing and trying to extricate himself from the suffocating down-filled comforter and his heavy weight. Seeing that sweet, innocent and stupidly happy smile did something rather alarming to Killian’s heart. It took a second or two before he could ignore it. Plus, it helped when Colton finally freed an arm and used it to hook him by the neck and bring him down for a kiss. Damn, but Colton sure could kiss! Heaven and hell at once. Soft lips, seeking tongue and a moan of pleasure— why did that combination hurt so deep in his chest? For a change, Blondie had his fingers entangled in Killian’s hair, snarled and tangled by wet and wind. Felt marvelous. Wanting more, Killian slid his rain-wet body to the side and took him into his embrace, kissing him madly on mouth and along jaw, then nipping his earlobe and neck. So tasty. On this last night, he didn’t have to take so thoroughly, and he planned on doing a lot of giving, a surrendering of his own. “Colton,” he breathed into his neck. A soft laugh. “Killian.” “Thank you.” “For what?” Finding a hand buried in the covers, Killian took it, twined his fingers around it and raised it to his mouth. Smiling, he took the powerful wrist in his mouth and bit down. “For the hunt. I enjoyed that very much.” “I hoped you would.” “It only wounded my pride a little that I couldn’t catch you.” The held fingers squeezed back. “You were very fast, my silver-furred one. The fastest that’s ever chased me.” “Really?” “Bella Luna was generous. You raised the hackles on the back of my neck once or twice.” “Get out!” “I’m serious! Do you have any idea how fucking huge you are? Bad enough you’re bigger than me as a human. Now I have to face the fact you’ll always be bigger and stronger than my wolf too.” Now Killian had to laugh and he did so nuzzling the thin growth of hair on Colton’s chest. “Enough with the shameless flirting, Blondie. I already want you, there’s no need for flattery.” “I just wanted you to know…in case I don’t get another chance…that I think you’re quite magnificent.” An invisible wrench tightened the bolt in his chest another notch. “Thank you, my pretty. But I have to ask, does it make a difference? Could you still take me down?” A shy smile answered him first. “Oh yeah,” he finally said. “But not many others could.” “Hmmm?” “And I’m counting on that.” Ah—the b usiness arrangement. “Must we speak of it now? And here I was thinking I’d have to give you an orgasm to get you talking.” The smile didn’t fade and Colton took Killian’s hand to his mouth and kissed him on the knuckles. “Tonight you might have to give me an orgasm to get me to shut up.” “Ah. A challenge. Then I better get started. How long do we have?” Blondie’s answering smile was positively beaming. “All night.” All night? “What do you mean?” “My hearing isn’t until tomorrow night, so we have all night to ourselves.” His smile dimmed to a shyer one. “Do you mind? I just wanted…one night to just be me. Nobody but Colton, one last night.” Leaning over, Killian had to kiss that shy smile away. It was hurting him. “No, I don’t mind. One whole night to use you and abuse you however I want? What’s not to like? How many times do you think I can make you come?” To find out, he began kissing his way down. Blondie squirmed, all his eager anticipation burning away at the top, nothing held back, nothing reserved. Bella Luna! Not such a mean bitch after all. Because he could, Killian tormented exposed nipples into rock-hard nubs with flicks of the tip of his tongue on his way to more sensitive regions. Colton was so responsive, moaning already, driving him crazy with desire. Would have been fun to tease him mercilessly, but he was just too eager himself, too much want held back for far too long. No warm-up licking given, he took the head of Colton’s swollen penis deep into his mouth and sucked long and hard. His reward was a groan of intense pleasure and an arch of that supple back—both things begging give me more! So he gave more and found it didn’t hurt a bit. Giving was such sweet sorrow. Blondie bound himself, twisting to grasp the wooden slats of the antique bed’s headboard, wiry muscles taut, eyes closed, breathing already coming fast. It never ceased to amaze him how Colton gave it all up, just like that. Sweet, hot, delicious and impossibly hard as it was, Killian sucked and tongued his cock, applying just a touch of teeth now and then to give it some edge.

Colton, of course, liked everything, including the sharp edge, liked the sucking mouth, the hand fondling his balls, the other hand under his ass, pushing him up deeper into mouth and throat. His climax came fast and hard, coaxed along only by the strength of his mouth. Colton was a quiet lover, soft spoken in sex just as he was everywhere else, and Killian delighted in hearing him moan loudly this time. Damn, b ut I’m good. Or is that b ad? Whichever! “Oh Jesus!” Blondie’s body was still thrumming, his pulse racing. But Killian didn’t want to wait. So he crawled back up to the head of the bed, prowling like the beast he was, his hands wet, his lips wet. “Open your mouth,” he ordered to the languid body. No hesitation, the pink lips parted and the mouth opened. Killian slid himself into it—deep. Spreading his legs across Colton’s upper chest without pulling out of that hot mouth took skill, but he managed. Then he watched himself slide in and out, watched his hard shaft get wet and glossy, deepen in color. Blondie kept his eyes closed. “Look at me!” he demanded. He loved watching those wonderful eyes fill with bliss. They flicked open, heavy lidded, still filled with dreamy satisfaction. Looking into the strange mix of brown and green, he pulled out, leaving only the head inside for a few seconds, then popped that out and ran it along Colton’s bottom lip. “Lick me.” The pink tip of his tongue obeyed, so enticing, the licking mesmerizing him. Nobody had a sweeter mouth than Colton Décarie. Helping, he stroked himself, letting Colton lick the tip as he did, nudging the head against his lips, testing the serrated edge of pearly teeth. The pace of his hand quickened. Pleasure spiraled up his spine. The hazel eyes sparkled with delight. Damned Blondie! How did he do this to him? Killian brought himself to orgasm against that licking tongue, those wet lips. It happened so fast. Impossible to resist. Hot ejaculate spurted over Colton’s face, chin and mouth, thick in his mouth. It was hot, it was dirty. It took all his will to watch, to keep his eyes open as the pleasure swamped him, but he made himself, demanded it of himself. When he was done, while he was still mostly hard, he thrust himself into Colton’s mouth, the corner of which had been curled into a secret smile. Perhaps…just perhaps, his pretty little shifter was wickeder than him? Colton licked his softening shaft when he pulled it out. “You’re naughty,” Killian said, as he slid down that nice body and took up his favorite position crushing his forbidden lover. “Ha!” Colton said with a cough from the weight. “You’re the one who masturbated all over my face.” To emphasize his point, he wiped his cheek and mouth off on the pillow. “And I liked it. It was hard keeping my eyes open.” “Do your eyes always go bright red like that when you come?” “Only with you.” “Really?” “Only for you,” he repeated. “I can’t help it.” “Ooh,” he teased, “something you can’t control? Does it drive you mad?” “No.” He laughed. “I kind of like it. Everything’s so intense. It just consumes me.” The fire had burned low. Obviously it was the only form of heat for the small cottage, a notion so utterly bizarre it confounded Killian. No furnace? What the hell kind of place was this? Not only that, the only light source was by lantern, there being no apparent electricity. It was oddly and utterly comforting. Stupid shifters. Only they’d think of this. All he wanted to do was find the edge of the blankets and crawl in, taking his pretty shifter lover with him. Sometimes he liked to cuddle. Not often—true. But he had to now, he needed it. There was too much going on that he had no understanding of, and he needed comfort, needed something that made sense. “Crawl in with me, pretty one.” “Yes, Killian,” he replied with that idiotic grin he’d been sporting. “Have you been smoking pot, shifter?” “Hey! No slandering my good name.” Now the smile was wry, as if he knew he no longer had a good name and didn’t care. It was too hot under the pile of comforters and such, but Killian took Colton into his embrace and just lay there, listening to the man’s heartbeat and inhaling the lingering scent of skin and hair that hadn’t been washed clean by rain. “I like seeing you happy.” Because he could, he kissed Colton’s temple, brushing damp hair behind his ear. He didn’t think Colton would consider him sappy. God, anything but that! “It’s hard,” Colton said softly. “Putting everything to the back of my mind, all my worries. But I made a choice. Tonight I can be whatever I want, and I want to be happy, I want to feel alive for once in a long time.” “Let’s not think of anything else until morning. Agreed?” “Yes. Tonight, it’s just you and me.” It was enough. Not nearly as much as Killian wanted, but he’d not expected to have Colton all to himself ever again, and to have him all night, and the smiling, laughing version? Marvelous. “Just you and me,” he replied, mostly to himself. It was hard letting everything else go and not spend his last hours thinking of all the things he wished he’d done or done differently. His mind was always active, never still, never calm, and tonight it was on overdrive. “You look more rested. I confess I was worried about you.” “Bull. I bet you were so furious you almost burst into flames.” “Yeah well…that too. I couldn’t wait to get on the plane and come here. Everyone was hassling me non-stop. You don’t know what a stir your little stunt caused.” “Sorry about that. I wanted to make sure…well, I wanted your friend there to spread it around I’d gone rogue. Or crazy. I didn’t want to put you in danger with your own kind.” “Well you didn’t have to do such a good job of it. Christ, Lucien went straight to his dad and blabbed the whole thing, and that was after I beat the crap out of him for being a stupid shit.” “Killian!” “Ass! He deserved it. And he’s my cousin, not my friend. And he punched me back this time, so don’t feel sorry for him. Got a nasty right hook now.” “He looks like you. Like a Frost. Not nearly as handsome as you, though.” “Damn straight I’m better looking. And why were you noticing?” Colton tweaked him in the side. “More jealousy?” “You’ll notice I’m rather possessive.” “You? No!” He tickled him again. “Then again…I do hear the word ‘mine’ out of your mouth quite often.” “You are mine. Don’t think you can argue just because there’s no red ribbon around your neck.” Under his arms, Blondie gave a slight shiver. “It’s still there. It’s just invisible.” “I know.” “Arrogant jerk.” “Yes, I am. But I resent the jerk part. I’m meaner than that. You insult me. And Colton,” he paused to briefly kiss him, “you are mine. But you must know that, just as surely as you are mine…” It was hard to admit the rest. “What?” “I am yours.” Blondie startled. He felt it. “I shouldn’t have given you that ribbon,” he whispered. Confession was not good for his soul—he was a werewolf, a dark hunter—but he said it anyway. “I didn’t know when I unwound it from that damned spool and ran it through my fingers that the silk flowed both ways, and that the other end would always come back to me.” “Killian…” “Shhh, pretty one. It pulls on me now,” he said as a surge of power rippled across his skin. “Let it catch me. Let it pull me in. Give me your mouth.” Submission meant heeding the command, so Colton gave him his mouth, his lips. Gave him everything. They kissed, necking like horny teenagers. Touching Colton always aroused him instantly, and it did now, even though his blood had barely stilled from climaxing only moments before. Already hard, he rubbed against his lover and felt the hardness there in return, the desire for him. All that passion, that fire inside was for him. Mine! The unseen ribbon wound its end tight around his hand. Fanning the fire below with new purpose, he insinuated his knee between Colton’s, spreading them wider, giving him access. His hands took it. “This is a lesson, Blondie. Pay attention.” “A lesson?” he asked, slightly breathless. “Oh yes. Learn well. Everything I do to you, you will do to me. Perfectly. Tonight you will serve me.” “Oh God.” “You may worship me as such.” “I hate you.” “I’ll fix that,” he promised. “By morning you’ll loathe me.” A restless hand squeezed one buttock tightly, savoring the hard muscle. There was nothing soft about Colton. “Since you most sneakily planned this night for us, I’m thinking you might have remembered something slippery to ease me in? Unless you’d like it rough?” “No thanks. I don’t like your idea of rough. I can still feel every single one of your whip marks.” “Mmm,” he moaned. “I liked that very much.” Remembering caused a slight body tremor. “Bella Luna, that was good! But that was meant to hurt. I’m seeking only pleasure tonight…although…if you want—” “No!” “Can I tie you up?” “If you did, I couldn’t very well serve you properly, oh master of mine.” “Smartass.” “In the drawer.” “Good boy.” Sly shifter. He did come prepared. Made things so much nicer and, since he’d soon be on the receiving end, he appreciated it more so, because it wasn’t like Colton wasn’t well endowed in his own right, perfectly made everywhere. And Blondie was gifted in the sex department. Everything he did felt good, and Killian’s anticipation grew. It took only seconds before he was lubed up, chest pressed against Colton’s back and his hard cock back between those strong legs, gently teaching his prize student what he needed to know. Or did he know it already? “Have you done this before, pretty one? Done naughty anal things to anyone?” “No. You know that. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with.” “Well, you were married. You have more than a little kink in you. I just wondered…” “No. And quit digging.” “Shut up and fuck?” “Please,” he begged. “Just you and me.” Killian let it go. It was just the two of them this night, after all, and he didn’t want her ghost joining them. Colton was all his. And he wasn’t sharing. Except his body—that he would share generously. Pressed so close, he was able to set his mouth on the back of Colton’s neck, that soft spot where the hair began at his nape, dark caramel and just as sweet, so lickable. The hunt came back to him, chasing his elusive prey through that thick strand of trees, a remnant of what England used to look like before she lost her

forests. So wonderful. That was one of the times he’d managed to get close to the blond wolf and he’d tasted the possibility of victory. But he could have that neck now—Killian bit him there, careful, always careful not to draw blood, although he knew he could handle it now, for it would be just another taste to savor. “Delicious,” he purred, then kissed his way down the exposed spine. Under his mouth, Colton’s pulse leapt and beat furiously against his lips. Their bodies were slick and Killian’s shaft slid easily inside the cleft, back and forth, a promise of more to come. Wanting to fulfill that promise, he stilled himself with his wet fingers and nudged Colton’s opening, turning the promise into bold suggestion. “Want more yet?” A soft whimper answered him. Yes, he did, but he’d make like he wanted it slow and teasing, something gentle. Killian knew his secret desires. Colton needed him to take, needed for him to make him submit. The nudges grew more forceful, the whimpering louder, and when Killian felt the shiver of pleasure travel down Colton’s back like a wave of heat, he entered him, the engorged head stretching its way into heaven. Not expecting it, Colton grunted. So impossib ly tight! “Mine,” Killian whispered and rocked in farther. The imaginary red ribbon tugged against his hands and the tight passage squeezed. Colton liked a sharp edge; it was the direction his kink went. Fortunately, his desires went the same direction. He loved to give with a hint of force—okay, more than just a hint—and grabbed himself a big handful of hair, yanking Colton’s head back in a way he liked very much, violence mixed with pleasure. Oh yes, he was always right! The invaded body gave a little spasm of thrill. Stoking the ember to burn brighter meant stroking his big cock back and forth, a little bit out and a lot more in. “You’re mine to take, pretty one. I’ll fuck you when I want and how I want!” Another surge of the heat wave, muscles clenching and squeezing. “Let me in,” he commanded. “Don’t fight me. I will have you damn it! You’re mine.” Fingers clenched tightly in blankets as Colton struggled to relax. A sharp edge didn’t necessarily mean pain, so Killian willed himself to calm, not shove, and took up rubbing Colton’s hard penis with his slippery fingers. His dirty mind reached down to his tongue. “You like it, I know you like it. You like my big cock deep up your ass as much as I do. You want me to fuck you hard, don’t you? Back into me, slide yourself on to me. Take all of me. Take it faster and harder, pretty one. Come on. Come to me!” The ribbon strung taut. Groaning, Colton obeyed, pressing his hips backward until he took all of him and took him deep. Crimson light flared instantly to life, the flood of gratification so intense he bit his tongue and liked the pain. This night was all about pleasure, and he would take them both there one thrust at a time. It was a strain on his dark heart not to get rough and pound into Colton in a manner his inner wolf would approve of, but tonight he wouldn’t push Colton’s boundaries. He knew where they lay. Letting go of the fistful of hair freed up his hand and releasing the hot, iron-hard rod with his other allowed him to push Colton flat on his face, arms splayed. Taken! Needing to dominate, Killian covered the clenched hands with his own. Almost as good as tying him up. Their knees alternated, giving good leverage. Killian rode him to a perfect rhythm. Power flooded him again and he basked in it, reveled in the glory of it, reveled in thrusting his cock deep. Unfortunately his beautiful shifter always made him come too fast—doing him was simply too pleasurable. “Killian,” he begged, his face shoved deep in the mattress, “please!” “You want to climax?” “Yes! Please, Killian.” If he granted him his wish, he wouldn’t get any reciprocation. What to do? Decisions, decisions. Then again, they did have all night. Blondie had lots of stamina. They could go again. Twisting their bodies to side-lying once more, Killian gave in to the begging —Christ, he loved the begging!—and brought Colton to the edge. Taking his share of delight, he rode him roughly a few fast, brutally hard strokes, pushing his moaning partner over the precipice into a long fall to the earth below. More squeezing. Oh fuck! The tightening rush threw him over the edge too, a freefall of endless pleasure. Lost again. Lost in the physical joy, the mindless joy of taking Colton’s body for his own. How did he do that to him? How long had it been this time? His head was humming a dizzy song. And any second Colton would beg again—get off. “Killian…” “I know, I know. Get off.” Another thorn for the werewolf; it hurt to pull out. Be damned if he’d give up the warm body, though. He was keeping it as long as he could and snagged it with his arm, and for good measure, his leg. Now he could rest and ignore the buzzing in his head…or was it his ears? “You tugged on my ribbon hard.” Had he? Mayb e a little. Just for a sec, a few ruthless thrusts. Killian kissed a muscular shoulder. “And it pulled hard on me, pretty one.” The snort of disbelief was loud enough not to go unnoticed. “I hate you calling me pretty, you know.” “Yeah? Too bad, it’s stuck permanently now.” “Crap.” “I’m sorry. I just don’t find you handsome.” “Thanks.” Ah, it was the touch of happy Colton again. “You’re much better looking than that. Sexy as hell. Every time I look at you, I get hard. I’m sure someone else has called you pretty at some point, hmm?” “Maybe.” “Do tell.” Colton shrugged under his confining arm. “Drayton, mostly. He says it to piss me off. And my mother. She says it to tease me.” “And your wife?” “Not her. She mostly called me asshole.” “Bullshit! She did. Ha! See? It’s true. Get used to it.” “Yes, Killian,” he sighed. Another clue. Damn, but making Colton come did make him talk. A comment about the lost wife that didn’t make him freak out. He’d stop there—he was getting jealous again. “You know you owe me, don’t you?” The shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Can I have five minutes?” Teasing him, Killian sighed back, all drama. “If you must.” “Pig.” “No. I’m a werewolf.” “Close enough.” “Ooh. Them’s fighting words. Want me to take you out back and smack you around?” “No thanks. Hate to damage my pretty face and all.” Colton’s happiness was contagious, and he laughed. “Does this creepy place have hot water?” “Yes.” “Come wash, then. Can I steal the lantern?” “Candles are on the counter.” “That’s just plain weird, you know.” “I like it. It’s like camping, but with hot water, a fridge and a stove. They’re all gas powered. Guess they never got around to wiring for lights.” “Do you feel it? That…power under the ground?” “Of course, that’s why I came here. So I could…heal.” “It doesn’t like me.” Twisting over, Colton faced him, impolitely kneeing his leg off his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…well, it never occurred to me it would bother you.” “Who would? I don’t imagine other shifters bring their werewolf lovers here all that often.” “I think only you and I have crossed that impossible barrier, my handsome werewolf lover. Does it hurt you? The power?” “Nah, it’s okay. It’s just…it’s like hearing music from a great distance. You know there’s music playing, but you can’t quite hear it and you keep trying to catch it and name the tune. Really irritating. When I transformed back at that burned-out building, it rather hurt.” “You poor thing.” “You can keep your crappy shifting thorns. They suck.” “They do.” A thought occurred to Colton, then, causing a dark shadow to cross over his features, visible even in the low golden light. “I didn’t mean to bring it up. We agreed. But do you want to talk about it for a bit?” Killian asked. “While you work up your appetite?” “I need to ask you a very important favor.” “Again?” “You never granted me the last one, but this is really important.” “I came here to help you.” “They took my mother.” “What!” “My parents came with me. I couldn’t make them stay home. I tried, God, I tried. But it would have looked odd if they didn’t come and I couldn’t risk the Council, or my parents, for that matter, getting suspicious. Shifter families are close-knit, you know that.” “How could they get away with this?” “My father took his oaths also and he had to obey. No way could he refuse. He must be going crazy with worry, his hands chained as they are. My parents are really close, they hate being apart. They’ll kill him—he’s a good shifter, but nothing like me. They’ll keep him close during the hearing and they’ll be waiting for the first opportunity. If I’m fast enough, I can mayb e get to him, but I can’t be in two places at once. You must help me, Killian. You must!” “So you want me to rescue the damsel in distress? I was rather hoping for a good fight.” The look Colton was giving him made his gut clench. “You’ll get one.” “How many?” “I don’t know.” Colton carried his worry in his shoulders as well as his defiance. They stiffened. “What’s going on?”

“I’d give anything to know. It’s like chess. They move, I move, they counterstrike, but I’m a crappy chess player and can’t stand politics. They’re up to something, I know it. I just don’t know what. Be prepared, that’s all I can tell you.” “They must know something you don’t.” “My hands have been tied. I haven’t been able to talk to…anyone.” “You have…friends?” “Yes.” “And you’ll die for them? For him?” Back to that stupid Prince again! Colton startled in his arms. “I kinda figured it out. You shouldn’t have shifted into that…thing in my house. Told me everything.” Colton gnawed his lower lip. “You’re too fucking smart.” “Maybe he has the same idea as you.” “Never.” “Even if he wouldn’t, maybe the Council thinks he would. Same thing, to them.” “I can’t believe it. They’d never suspect him.” “Why the hell not? Can you at least tell me that?” “Because he’s just…a kid.” A kid? This did not compute. “Huh?” “He’s a teenager, Killian, okay? He’s like, fifteen—no, sixteen, now.” Would fainting be terribly unmanly? His head felt hot. “The Prince of Thorns is a teenager? Jesus Christ!” “So now do you understand? It’s not him.” How could the deadliest shifter in the world be a stupid teenager? Bella Luna help them all when he grew up! “Please help me,” he urged past what sounded like a lump in his throat. “Please!” “No need to beg this time. I said I would help you, and I will.” Stupid b itch! Could she have made it any harder? “I have to ask you something. And you must tell me the truth.” “I’ve never lied to you. I won’t now.” “This Prince of yours…is he a good one? Or is he full of the seeping black? I know what he did. What he is. Everyone does. And you protect him? You’ll die for him?” “He understands the balance better than anyone I’ve ever met. His soul is pure, there’s no thread of deepest black wrapped around it. His existence keeps the scales even—I promise you this on what’s left of my broken soul.” Stupid shifter boy was radiating honesty. Was he a true dark one or not? How deep was his trust in Bella Luna’s plan for him? Closing his eyes, Killian sighed. It was deep. Hadn’t she just filled him up some more only minutes ago? “While I’m rescuing your mother—and tell me, is she a bitch like mine?—what will you be doing?” “You want to talk this through now, or in the morning?” “Now. Definitely now. You can fuck me later.” Colton blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. “Uh, okay. Firstly, my mother is wonderful. You harm one hair on her head and I will throttle you. And no flirting with her, either.” “She hot?” “Got my prettiness from somewhere, didn’t I? She won’t want to go with you, you know that?” “I like unwilling women.” “Stop that!” “You learned to trust me. She will too, okay?” “And while you’re stealing her away and killing anything that gets in your way, I will be standing before the Council of Nine stating my case.” “And then? As they say over here, in for a penny, in for a pound.” “And then I will kill them all and die doing it.” Well, he’d asked for honesty, hadn’t he? The truth really, really hurt. “I understood that part of the plan, my demented one, but that’s nine shifters to one. Just how are you planning on killing all of them?” It broke him, his question. “I take it back. Don’t answer that.” The lovely hazel eyes closed. “No, it’s okay. I ask you to trust me. I can’t very well sit here and deny you the same trust. It’s not like it’s a big deal or—” His fingers crossed Colton’s lips. “I said I would never steal your honor and I won’t. Keep your secrets.” “No! They don’t deserve my honor. I shall give it to you freely. I will kill them all because I will be able to shift and they won’t.” “Whoa,” he said without thinking. “How come they won’t?” “Because I won’t let them.” “How?” “I can’t sense worth shit, but I have something else in me. A gift, a special talent. It’s why they fear me. I have the ability to make them shift, force it upon them. Any shifter. Or not allow them to shift, as I see fit. I can even make you shift against your will.” “Bullshit!” “It’s true. I was born with the ability and the Prince taught me how, showed me the secret of it. It’s an old talent, lost for a long time.” Good grief! This crazy scheme was getting worse and worse. More answers, however, had been provided to his unspoken questions. “Is that how you killed that werewolf in the desert? You shifted him back to human?” “No, not the one that gutted me, I killed him fair and square. The other one, though, yes. That’s what gave me so much black…so many black threads. It was shameful.” “So why will you die? Just shift ’em and kill ’em and get out. Once the Council is gone, all their little henchmen will disappear. It’s always the way it goes.” “You don’t understand. It is one of those gifts that cuts both ways. When I take their shifts from them, I get the thorns. All of them.” “Shit.” “That’s why I couldn’t bear to shift again when you took me to your house. I simply didn’t have the strength for it. Doing it nine times? And maybe all at once? And then pushing that pain aside long enough to take their lives? It’ll take too much out of me. It will kill me this time.” Life without Colton in it? Too horrible to contemplate. “Find another way.” “There isn’t one.” “Take me with you.” “I can’t! They’re far too powerful and have too many of their corrupt friends around, waiting to do their bidding. They’ve completely stacked the deck with their own cards. I’m prepared to sacrifice myself, but to add you and my mother and father to the list of my failures? I won’t do it. I won’t!” “There has to be another way.” “There isn’t. If I wait, it’ll only get harder and harder. If I live through it, then great. If not, at least I can go in peace knowing I did what was right.” “You stupid shifters! You’re worse than us! Your scheming boggles the mind.” “Maybe you should’ve just killed me when I asked.” Instead of the red ribbon, Killian’s hand wound around Colton’s neck. “Don’t ever say that again!” Stressing his point, he squeezed until Colton’s eyelids fluttered shut. “Killing you would have been the mistake, not saving you.” Frustrated, he reluctantly released his hand. “You have to let me go.” Jesus Christ! How he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. “I hate always having to let you go!” he yelled. “Shhh…Killian, don’t yell. Please, don’t. I know you don’t like things you can’t control, but you have to let me go. Come tomorrow, you’ll go one way and I’ll go another. Save my mother… please! And save yourself too. The world needs you. I think you understand the balance as much as our Prince. Be the advocate for the dark side. Give the world your whip hand.” Unconsciously, Killian ground his teeth together. Why be given so much power if you couldn’t do what was needful with it? “I don’t like this.” “I know. You make it obvious. But I will go, whether you like it or not.” “You’re getting all stubborn and defiant.” “Beat me for it if you want, but this time you won’t break me. I will do as I must.” Killian entertained the notion of kidnapping Colton, knocking him unconscious and spiriting him away before he could go through with his crazy plan. What good would it do? They’d simply wind back up here again sooner or later. Thinking of every eventuality when you didn’t have all the facts always provided an imperfect answer. Mindlessly, he fingered Colton’s hair, ran his fingers over his face, his closed eyes and across the lips he liked so much. “Colton?” “Yes, Killian?” “Try.” There was no law that said he couldn’t give shifter boy a shove. “Try for me. Try for life. Don’t spend yourself uselessly. Make an effort.” “Of course I will.” No, he wouldn’t. Colton didn’t expect to survive it; therefore it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy. “I’m not finished with you. And come morning, I still won’t be finished with you. I want more.” “Greedy bugger.” “Yes, I am. I want what I want and I’m damned well gonna get it.” Once again his hand of violence was wrenching Colton’s hair, ruthlessly and merciless. He’d yank on that fucking ribbon for all it was worth! “You will come back to me. Do you understand me? You will not let the shift consume you. You will not give it everything. Save some for yourself, hold back a little piece, the little piece that belongs to me. Come back to me!” His assault was hurtful and Colton was wincing. “Let go, Killian!” “Promise me.” “I can’t!” “Promise me! It’s the only thing I’m asking of you. You owe me.” Colton was trying to unfold his fingers, so Killian squeezed them tighter, knuckles burning from the intense pressure. “I will try. For Christ’s sake, Killian! Let go!” “Swear it! Give me your oath.” “I swear it! I will try. I promise to try.”

Killian’s temper was flaring, a cloudburst. Upon releasing the knotted hair, he slammed Colton flat onto the bed with a hard hand to the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid,” he warned. Guilt could be an effective weapon too. “Take their thorns and fill up your pelt with all their seeping black, my pretty one. Let it fill you so deep there’s no blond left. Let your eyes turn black, take it all. Later, I’ll take it all back out of you, so let it fill you up!” “Killian…” “Do it! You’re mine, not theirs. Hunt them and be done with it! I will do my part, you will make a hunter of me after all, and I will take my revenge out of your body when all is said and done.” His blood was seething, making his skin burn with the effort of halting his transformation, and his facial bones hurt. Small bones in his hands snapped and broke apart, readying for claws. “Don’t! No shifting.” “Don’t piss me off!” “No temper tantrums. Stop it!” So difficult! He wanted to shift and bite, not stop it. Fighting the rage, he buried his face in the curve of Colton’s neck, breathed in his scent seeking the balm for his frustration. A measure of calm came to him. The steady beat of a saner pulse hummed in his ears, whispering for peace. “I promise, Killian,” Colton vowed in a whisper. “I will try. I’ll save a little piece for you. I’ll remember my red ribbon.” Blondie meant it. The truth was there. “On your soul?” “Yes. I will save some of myself and come back to you if I can. I promise you this on my soul.” “Done,” he said, satisfied. “We’ll seal our bargain with a kiss. Give me your mouth.” That flash of temper was very arousing. Colton didn’t exactly give his mouth—Killian took it, rough and forceful. He bit. Tooth marks dented that lovely white neck all the way down, over Colton’s shoulder and on to his arm. The flavor of salt and shifter spice tantalized his tongue. Hungry for more than just the taste of Colton’s skin, Killian sent his hands to wandering again, grabbing, stroking and sliding in the slipperiness between Colton’s legs, making his hand wet enough that it slid easily along the hardening shaft. “You owe me,” he said, words sharp as a curse. “I already promised.” “Not that! You owe me your body. Let’s see how well you remember your lesson, my wicked little shifter.” Colton’s cock hardened instantly under his hand. “Give it to me. This is mine too.” There was a slight tremor in Colton’s voice when he spoke. “How do you want it?” Now there was a question. Trust Colton to get right down to it. Might as well go all the way—it wasn’t like he’d get another opportunity. “You’re a wolf, aren’t you? Fuck me like one.” “Okay…I will,” he said. And he didn’t sound the least bit timid. In human form, Colton was just as speedy as his shifted self, and Killian was momentarily surprised at how quickly he found himself face down, head crammed up against a thick pillow. It took concentration and willpower to remain in his submissive position on his knees. He seldom gave up his body to anyone, and it had been a long time. Then hot hands were on him and he lay there and took it as they touched him everywhere. Perhaps he’d been starving the man? Restless fingers were in his hair testing texture and curious fingers roved over spine and down legs before coming back up, fully taking the opportunity to examine him back. It hurt. Ah, the agony of waiting. Killian wanted instant gratification. Hot and horny, he wanted more. More! A powerful thigh shoved his legs apart, giving him a shiver that ran the entire length of his big body. It had been a long time since he’d been so excited for penetration. Colton simply drove him crazy with lust. Finally. Bella Luna! Finally the questing fingers stilled their restless examination. Two knees took up position between his spread thighs. Submitting was horrible! Having one of the world’s deadliest shape-shifters between his legs breathing hot on his exposed back was incredibly disturbing, and his lust tasted the hard edge of fear. A little fear was good—he tried to savor it. The deadly shifter settled his not-insignificant weight against him, all hotness, fine hair and silken skin. The hot mouth on the muscle on the top of his shoulder was maddening until the fangs were bared. Taking advantage of Killian’s defenseless position and exposed shoulder, Colton bit him. Not a gentle love bite, either; a full-on wolf bite. There was a sharp hiss in Killian’s ear, otherworldly, a shifter sound he couldn’t hope to understand. It sent his emotions from disturbed to downright terrified. Blood had been drawn. “Just a taste to bring me back to you,” Colton’s seductive voice whispered. A taste of death was what Killian got, then slick fingers in the crack of his ass. Maybe he should have thought this through better? The fingers lubed him good. Yes, he should have considered this more. The fingers made room for something else, something smooth and round and hot. Bella Luna, he wanted! Colton, however, was stingy with himself. He never teased like that, did he? Surely not! It was fucking nasty. Unbearable. His hands were suddenly clenching the sheets. Colton slid his shaft up and down the cleft and imagining the sight if their positions were reversed sent a ripple of arousal up Killian’s spine. The fat head sought entrance. Being a right bastard, though, Colton didn’t enter, he just teased. “I’m going to kill you, Colton Décarie,” he said darkly. The cruel bastard laughed. “Wait till after I fuck you.” “If you ever get around to it!” “You want something, Killian?” he said sweetly. “When I kill you, I’m gonna do it slowly.” Another nudge against puckered flesh quickened Killian’s arousal. Taking his revenge all the way, Colton backed off and replaced his cock with a hand deep between Killian’s parted legs, one that cupped his balls before moving on to stroke his erection with deliberate cruelty—cruel as in slow and teasing. Impatient, Killian rose up on his knees and hands. If Colton wanted to make him beg, he could forget it. Reading his mind, Colton laughed. “I know you’ll never beg, but I at least want the satisfaction of having you think about it.” “The killing part will also be painful,” he promised. “I’m really going to hurt you.” “Lava and acid mixed together?” “White-hot!” “You want me inside you, my wicked werewolf lover?” Fortunately, Colton didn’t expect an answer, because he wasn’t gonna get one, and merely stroked Killian some more before letting it go. Then the smooth head was back again, and rubbing against his anal opening. So damned hot! “Do it!” Complying, his pretty shifter lover did, in agonizing slow motion. Up until then, he’d never realized just how big Colton’s penis actually was. Stood to reason, he was a big man. It had been in Killian’s mouth, down his throat. Yes. Big. But Colton had learned his lesson well and eased that fat head in, stretching him with a patience Killian had to admire as he moaned, invaded and loving it. It was his turn to relax and accept. Accepting was horrible! All his nerves were lit on fire and burning as Colton filled him, stretching his way farther and farther one slow thrust after another, his breath the speed of a marathon runner’s, controlled but fast. Then Killian heard that damnable whimpering. Rocking gently, Colton sent himself deeper, spreading him wide. “Oh God,” Blondie gasped. “Oh my God.” If Killian could have answered, he might have. Talking took too much concentration with his mind totally absorbed and his body consumed by a rush of sensations. So full. So fucking wonderful! His red hunting eyes came on with the rush and his werewolf blood thrummed in his veins. His animal side approved of the spiraling pleasure, the long, hard cock going deeper and deeper up his ass. Werewolves were lusty creatures. Especially him. “You like it?” Colton asked with his deeper shifter voice. “Should I give you more?” “Give me all of you,” he demanded. “You’re mine! It’s mine.” Obeying, Colton pushed past all barriers and took him fully, the depth of his penetration shocking and so bloody good. They groaned together, taker and taken. Colton filled him up. He began stroking, slow and gentle, rocking against him, savoring his first taste of possession. There was panting and moaning on both sides. Thrusting hips moved faster and harder and Killian’s hanging head crushed the pillow against the headboard. “Push yourself up and grab the headboard,” no-longer-innocent shifter said. Following the order was difficult, but Killian did it. He wanted something to hold on to. Colton used his thrusting cock to drive him closer, inching his knees ahead. The wooden slats bore his weight as Blondie found and caught a delicious rhythm. Spreading his arms wide, Killian held on and almost enjoyed being possessed. A paradox; he couldn’t have the pleasure of the sex act without giving up his body to someone else’s possession. “Killian,” he moaned, “I can’t…won’t be able to do this long…it’s just too hard to hold back. You’re so…tight. It’s so good. God, it hurts!” “Fuck me harder. Faster! Give me your hand and stroke us both to climax.” Not that it would take long. In fact it only took a few jerks of Colton’s big squeezing hand and a few deep and powerful thrusts to take him to the edge. The skin of his spine prickled—he was coming, Bella Luna!—he was coming and transforming at the same time, his werewolf fur longing to escape out of the thin skin along his spine. It was right there! Pleasure sent his mouth to watering and wanting sharp canines for biting into Colton’s soft flesh. The combined sensations were so intense his vision actually faded to white, then white became blindness as he climaxed while Blondie pumped into him, taking him roughly. Coming mind-numbingly hard, he spurted hot fluid everywhere, on his belly, all over the pillows. The extra tightness of his clenching muscles forced Colton to follow him down the path of absolute, mindless joy, and in a guttural language Killian knew well, Colton cried out. And he lost himself again. Fell so deep into the pleasure he forgot where he was, who he was. Colton was quicker than him when it came to pulling out and fell onto the bed with a painful moan. Incredibly, Killian’s fingers were locked shut around the slats and he was unable to open them at will. When they finally obeyed his brain and unclasped, Killian twisted and lowered himself to the bed, taking up his favorite position spread heavily over Colton’s boneless body. They lay together, totally spent, for quite some time, so long he felt the earth turning under him. The power under the ground had a different feel to it now, less antagonistic—it began to fill him up. When Killian regained his full consciousness, he snuck a quick look at his lover’s flushed face. Absolute bliss. If he had a mirror handy he was sure he would have seen the same thing on his. Damn, but he certainly felt absolutely and utterly satisfied. Pleased. Giving in to the sudden impulse, he found Colton’s mouth with his and kissed him sweetly, so exhausted he could barely keep his head up to do it. “Did you like that?” Blondie moaned painfully. “God,” he groaned. “We need to work on your vocabulary.” “Shhh. Can’t talk now,” he mumbled. “I can’t remember how, anyway.” Before the complaining began, he willed his body to move, just enough to get into a more favorable cuddling position. In his usual fashion, he smothered Colton, both arms and legs wrapped around his prize. “Mine,” he whispered. “Yours,” was whispered in return.

Chapter Twenty-One

They slept late. It was the first decent sleep Killian had had in days. As usual he kept Colton close even in sleep, some part or other of him always touching him, a hand, his leg or having that shiny blond head tucked into the curve of neck and shoulder. It was getting embarrassing. He didn’t waste much time caring about it. If this was to be the last time he got to sleep with or even b e with Colton, he was going to take everything he could, pride be damned. Feeling guilty for using up far more of Colton’s recovering energy than he should have, Killian left him to sleep on while his mind raced. Sleeping, his shifter looked positively angelic and impossibly young. If he survived this coming night, he was definitely gonna have to quit shifting so damned much. People were going to start noticing the discrepancy between his perfect unlined face and the date on his birth certificate. Only the purple smudges underneath his eyes aged him, and Killian had put them there. Evidently it was possible to have too much sex. Who’d have thought? His body hurt just about everywhere, and most of it from overuse. For the first time ever, he didn’t want to jump his pretty one’s bones—maybe later. How many times in the night had they woken hungry for each other? And satisfied that hunger? Physically tired, but wide awake, Killian tried not to move too much and wake him—difficult with them pressed so close together. Whatever transpired at a shifter hearing would be happening at midnight. Kind of symbolic that was, being one of Colton’s favorite times. Pray it be favorable to the outcome. In between pleasuring each other senseless, they had talked. Colton knew where his mother was, even had an address for the fortress, once the home of…friends. That’s what he called it too, a big, stone shifter fortress. Giving up all his secrets, he’d revealed the existence of the underground headquarters of the Council of Nine, a veritable labyrinth right under the feet of unsuspecting Londoners. Some of it existed before the Second World War and some of the tunnels were simply appropriated afterwards. Shifters had lots of money. This underground city was where Colton would be going. Alone. Finally conceding to the need for a backup plan, Colton agreed that if he was successful and survived, they’d meet at the burned-out hotel at dawn. If he was a no-show, Killian was to accompany his mother back home and deliver her into Drayton’s hands and no one else’s. Easy enough. But Killian had half a mind to hide the woman somewhere safe and haul his ass over to London and invade this presumed safest of all shifter fortresses. The whole plan sucked as far as Killian was concerned. Colton had no head for intrigue, but the necessity for absolute secrecy required a simple plan. Beyond doubt, it was a suicide mission, unless Colton could get to his father and find other allies. And Killian had a pretty good idea who those allies might be: those loyal to the Prince of Thorns. Dumb asses, every one of them, if you asked him. They should have had guts enough to help out Colton in the first place, not leave him so utterly alone he had to seek death from his enemy. Killian had no respect for any of them and thinking of it made him mad. Lying there, he fumed. “I can hear you thinking,” Colton mumbled into his bare shoulder. “I’ll think softer then,” he whispered, “go back to sleep.” For a change, instead of arguing, Colton did. That tightening wrench claimed the bolt in Killian’s chest again when the warm body turned and cuddled up against him before falling back into slumber, one long arm wrapped around his chest. Enjoying the closeness, Killian caressed the skin softly and rhythmically, thinking and planning and…the next thing he knew…it was afternoon. Lulled by the touching, he’d fallen back asleep and dreamed endlessly about being trapped underground in marble-lined tunnels, hearing the echoes of a thousand footfalls chasing him. As their teeth caught up to him, he woke in panic, eyes red and in full hunt mode. “Peace werewolf,” Colton said. “Fuck that!” he cussed. “Suit yourself, my bitchy one,” he muttered, toweling his hair. Not only was Colton up, he was clean and washed, smelling of girly shampoo. “Why didn’t you wake me?” “I was enjoying watching you sleep. You were dreaming.” “And it was nasty. I wouldn’t let you suffer like that.” “Sorry. Want me to pour you a bath yet? It’s kind of a weird contraption.” It was weird, and the tub was an old claw-footed one, and brass, not porcelain. But it was big enough to fit in properly, and his sore body appreciated the hot water. Not taking time to enjoy it, he washed fast. He felt disoriented. And hungry. Miserable, he was hiding from the fact his time with Colton was rapidly diminishing and he had no control over anything. It was awful not having control of everything. How did other people stand it? Colton cooked better than him and made him breakfast, sausages and eggs and toast, and it felt like he was eating his last supper, a last meal for the condemned. Shifter boy said little and ate lost in thought, a wrinkle of worry between his brows. “Remember your promise to me,” Killian said. “You will come back to me.” Colton’s smile was sweet and true. “I want to.” “Do you?” “Yes, Killian.” He grinned. “I think perhaps I don’t dislike you anymore. I might have moved passed that into neutral territory.” “Oh?” “Yeah. Now I think you might be tolerable.” Well. Stupid shifter. “Must have been all those orgasms.” Closing his eyes, he winced. “I hurt everywhere.” Ah, pretty boy was trying to be lighthearted. Maybe he should gift it back? “Well, I am a nasty werewolf. I see you have one or two bite marks.” Ha! More than one or two, Colton was covered with circular purple bruises. He really shouldn’t do that. It was disgusting. “I’ll have to live with it, I guess. Can’t spare any energy to shift all my aches and pains away.” So sweet. “I wouldn’t let you, anyway. I want your body to know who it belongs to. Every place you’re sore should remind you I’ve been there.” “You’re disgusting. You know that?” “At least I’m truthful. Besides, I’m sore too—you’re a fast learner. And you didn’t have to take a chunk out of me.” The bite mark on his shoulder was black and scabby. “A souvenir.” “Shut it, Blondie. You will come back to me. You will!” Keeping his lips sealed meant he didn’t have to lie. “Dawn. I’ll see you at dawn.” “I said I would try. I gave you my oath and it’s one I’m desperate to keep.” “Good. Then let’s get this ridiculous sideshow under way. I hope your neighbors won’t mind seeing a big, naked man wandering around.” “Hmm. That could be a problem. You are awfully big.” He ignored his remark. “I need clothes.” “I bought you some. They should fit.” They did, quite well, actually, and Killian even liked them. Pretty hard to go wrong with jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket. Even the boots fit. “You did good.” “Thank you. I know how much you like boots.” Those words made his cock stir in the snug jeans. “You want something, Blondie?” “Um, no. I have to be able to sit down today.” All misery vanished instantly, and he laughed. “If you can get it up, I’m sure I can think of some place to stick it.” “Forget it. It’s time I got dressed.” “Chicken?” “Absolutely.” Colton was still wearing his pajama bottoms and they were loose. They could be pulled off quite easily…but no, he was already up and pulling a large, flat box out from under the bed. They’d squashed it somewhat, Killian saw. “What’s that?” “Formal robes.” “What?” “It’s traditional.” “You’re fucking kidding me.” “Nope.” The lid slid off the top when he set it on the bed, revealing layers of tissue and something blood red underneath. Really, it was a gown of some sort. They were all fucking crazy. Rob es? “You’re not actually going to wear that, are you?” “I am. It’s rather a serious hearing.” All he could do was watch as Colton dressed. Something about that outfit sent shivers of horror down his back. It was…ominous…all red and creepy. In a weird way, it also excited and aroused him, a fact he didn’t much like as he compared the two thoughts, so at odds with each other. Colton first pulled on a pair of form-fitting underwear; at least those were grey and molded to his sexy body in a way which stirred up Killian’s loins even more. Simple trousers made to fit his lean frame followed and tied with an intricate lacing that seemed familiar to him. Traditional, he’d said. Interesting. And tailored, an outfit planned in advance? A white shirt with wide, flowing sleeves fit Colton perfectly, the cuffs and neck intricately embroidered, a buttonless tunic, not a shirt. Thorns. Goddamn thorns everywhere! An embroidered rose vine full of thorns. “Jesus Christ, Colton.” His answering smile was his patented shy one. “More thorns for me.” Next followed the dress and yes, it was a dress. Blood red and floor length with the sides slit all the way to the waist. The bodice—and fucking right, it’s a b odice—was sleeveless and expertly crafted with intricate rows of thin strips interlocked to create a stunning pattern. More thorn embroidery laced the edge of the bottom hem; the sheen of the matching red thread glistened. Last of all was a robe, hooded and flowing like a cape, lined with silk. The sleeves were wide, but short enough the cuffs of the shirt were visible and flaunting their painful reminder of a shifter’s lot. Once everything was tied and buttoned, Colton turned and faced him. “Oh my fucking God.” The outfit was hideous. The red was so gorgeous on him, made for his coloring alone. Red flashed and flowed as he moved. It was the most stunning ensemble Killian had ever seen—humans would fall at his feet and worship the young god. “You’re not going there to ask them to stop making you hunt, are you?” Guilt spread across Blondie’s usually innocent face. “No.” “Those are death robes, aren’t they? You’re going there to ask them to kill you!”

Blondie said nothing. “Son of a bitch! No wonder your parents had to come. Colton, how could you do that to them? You asshole!” “They don’t know.” Fury sparked in his head, blinding and painful. “I’m going to take you up to my attic room for this, Colton Décarie. And I’m going to rip that dress off you bit by bit and make you pay for every scrap of that death red fabric. You’ll pay with your blood!” “Aren’t you glad you told me to never let you take me up there again?” “I don’t care if you’re willing or not.” “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Killian.” “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “We will.” There would be a tomorrow for them. Completing the look of his winding shroud, Colton meticulously brushed his long hair until it shone and then tied it back into a neat tail with red elastic. The last touch, the most important one, evidently, because he was all tentative and worried about it, lay nestled in a black jeweler’s box buried at the bottom of the night table and unearthed with a sigh. He set it on the messy bed, and Killian tried not to let his anger get to him. The necklace’s pendant hung from a long chain and glittered obscenely when Colton dangled it from his hand, showing him. “Holy fuck,” he said in awe. The thing was awesome and probably worth well over a million bucks. The diamonds were flawless and plentiful and the artwork astounding. When he held out his hand, Colton passed it over. The dragon emblem was gold filigree and studded with gems, and its clawed feet carried the prize, a massive canary yellow diamond so big his eyes goggled—then blinked slowly in resignation. Hiding the truth of that winged creature in his living room had worked up until now. “Don’t look at me like that,” Colton said softly. “Like what?” he snapped. “With murder in your eyes.” “Why the hell not? I want to murder you.” Blondie was hurt. He’d hurt his feelings. “I don’t want to remember you looking at me like that.” Killian Frost had to close his murderous eyes. That creeping tightness in his chest now felt like a red-hot ice pick thrust through his heart, burning him from the inside out. If this was the last they’d see of each other, did he want it to be hurt and sadness to remember on his part and killing rage for Colton to see in his mind’s eye? No. “Come here, pretty one. Give me your mouth one last time.” Submitting for the final time, he came. Everything went red through Killian’s hunting eyes, not just that horrid outfit. Colton was so…beautiful! Fondling the body under that ornately quilted dress thrilled him in a perverse way, and Killian had to touch him everywhere and remember him with his hands. Surrendering to that which was needful, he hung the impossibly truthful necklace around Colton’s neck, tucking it beneath the embroidered thorns. Their kiss was long and sweet. Breathless, he finally pulled away. He had to let him go—again. It was difficult taking a deep breath. He ran his thumb along that delicious bottom lip and committed it to memory. Then, with a wicked smile, he looked deep into Colton’s eyes and said, “Let’s hunt!” At least he got a smile back. “Yes,” he agreed, and with a wink said, “Bella Luna calls for us, brother wolf. Let’s hunt!” By mutual agreement they said no more to each other, not even goodbye or good luck when Colton drove him to his abandoned car and dropped him off. They said their goodbye with a single, aching kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Colton’s handwriting might suck absolutely, but his map skills were pretty damned good. Now Killian knew what Colton did with his spare time while soaking up stray power beams from under the ground. He made detailed maps. Bloody Blondie. Did he have a photographic memory? His new one was quite intricate, a modern road map with a Mylar overlay on top. The overlay showed every shifter and werewolf residence for a fifty kilometer radius. How could they live so close to each other and not go berserk? The implied thing was, of course, that Killian could get quite close to his target without arousing suspicion. Sure, he’d be sensed, but he’d be just another werewolf on the prowl. They wouldn’t be alarmed until he was within the grounds. And better yet, the night was shaping up to be a dark, moonless one. It was pitch black already and would be later, giving his eyes the edge. The map was so good he never got lost once. He was in what was considered here “the country”, and they wouldn’t know real country if it bit them on the ass. It was just nearing ten. He had two hours to wait until he was going to strike. As Colton entered the Council’s chambers in his dress of red death, Killian Frost would be finding out exactly what kind of werewolf he really was. Despite the enormity of what he was about to do, he felt no fear. He felt considerable angst at the necessity of killing, but none for being killed. Killian didn’t want to kill, but kill he would. His only fear was failing—he’d never failed at anything in his life and didn’t want to try it out now. Failure was for all those other useless tits that made up the rest of the population. Part of him was secretly happy at playing the hero for once instead of always being branded with the demon of darkness label. And he was curious—what did Colton’s mother look like? Had he seen her before? Would she try scratching his eyes out? His mother sure as hell would…mind you, he wasn’t all that certain he’d go through all this trouble to rescue his mother. The shifters would b eg him to take her back. Werewolves made audacity an art. Seeing an open drive, he pulled into one of the houses marked on the map as a werewolf residence. Looked like it too, all grand and stately and so reeking of money Killian felt a poor vagrant by comparison, never mind he was filthy, stinking rich himself. It took only seconds for a shadow to appear from the side of the house. He’d been sensed. They were good here, no delays. Parking off to the side, he got out. The wolf sized him up with a touch of fear and a touch of condescension. Arrogant, Killian stared back like he had every right to be there. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked in an English accent, a thing so utterly bizarre Killian just had to chuckle. “A trespasser,” he confirmed. “Leave,” he replied. “I need to leave the car here for a bit.” “Is that a fact?” the werewolf said. Killian gave him a dark look, one received with a flicker of fear, for Killian was roughly half again the man’s size and one hand could fit around his neck with ease. Smaller or not, he was made from good blood and the fear didn’t linger. In warning, he called his blood up and let his eyes turn crimson. “We don’t hunt around here,” he warned. Exactly where did they hunt, then? Fascinating subject. Killian had always wondered. His understanding was they traveled to third world countries to hunt where no one cared and if they did, nothing could be done about it. It would be just another dead body and, in a sea of millions of bodies, it was easy to pick them off and get away with it. The world was still full of dark and secluded paths made for a werewolf’s silent feet. Hunters referred to it as culling the herd, a reference which had always offended him. Guess he did like humans a bit too much. But he was getting sidetracked. “I’m not hunting humans,” he replied. This caught the wolf’s attention. “What can you tell me about your nearest, friendly neighborhood shifters?” Hoity-toity British werewolf was utterly stunned. Gobsmacked! Good English word, that. “Are you insane?” he finally asked. “Yes.” “Don’t bring that trouble here.” “I won’t. They have something that doesn’t belong to them and I’m gonna go get it.” The laughter was slightly off key and didn’t last long. “We’d be happy to kill you if you’re looking for a quick way out.” “Would you?” Now that was interesting. “Thanks, but no thank you. I take it they’re good stock, then?” “Yes.” “How many?” “Who the hell knows? They come and they go, but on a permanent basis, I’d say half a dozen.” He appeared to give it some thought. “Although the past day has seen considerable comings and goings—perhaps you know something about that?” Should he help out these weird werewolves? Why the hell not? “You might want to make yourselves scarce tonight. A getaway to London and all that?” “Belle Lune,” he whispered. “They will kill you, crazy one.” “We’ll see. Tonight shall be very special for us dark hunters, mon ami,” he said, convincing himself as well. “Yes, something very special is about to happen, you will see.” “What?” he asked. Something in Killian’s manner must have been very convincing. The smaller wolf was intensely interested, leaning forward eagerly. Or was it just his innate charm? “Shhh…” he said softly. “My secret to keep. Until morning.” Excited, he said, “Perhaps…you need assistance?” Tempting. So tempting. “No. I shall hunt alone tonight.” “We’ll stay here. And watch.” “Leave my car alone. If it’s not here when I get back, I’m gonna be very upset.” With one raised eyebrow, the Englishman said, “Is that so?” Mon ami needed a push. Letting his power flow through his veins, he allowed it to show, first in the eyes, and then the face. The glow was so intense it actually shone like a lamp, reflecting off the smaller wolf’s wet eyeballs. His face lengthened and his teeth sharpened. When his hands snapped and broke apart and formed thick black claws, Killian halted his transformation, power only very old and skilled werewolves had. Now it came easily to him, taking only a single thought. Bella Luna was incredibly generous. Because he could, and his temper was flaring, Killian reached out and took the werewolf by the neck before he even knew to be scared. He was right—his hand did go all the way around,

and easily. “Don’t upset me,” he said, although it might not have been understandable, the words garbled. No mind, the intent was there. With Killian’s hand squeezing, the other could say nothing. His eyes flared to life, but it was defensive only. He knew who the dominant male was and remained human. Insulting him further and rudely, Killian slid out his tongue, a very long and disgusting tongue, and licked the side of his captive’s face. The threat was implicit. He uncurled his hand and pulled back his power, like the quick snap of a rubber band retracting. Feeling nasty and tasting his own blood on his tongue, he kept his red eyes. “Glad we understand one another,” he said. He might have shoved too hard, insulted the werewolf too deeply. Ah well. It was done. “You die this night,” the other promised. Laughing darkly, Killian agreed. “Yes, I know.” And he walked away, not watching his back. There’d be no attack. At least not right away. And they wouldn’t be touching his car—that he was sure of. The air smelled funny, wet and stinky and smoggy, even here, so far from London. As Killian walked, he suffered breathing it in. What a shitty place to die. He’d surely make an effort to avoid that eventuality. It was farther than it looked and he passed several human estates before he reached the prize of the area, the beautiful, ancient, stone shifter fortress. Stupid shifters. As if stone and mortar could save them. His approach startled a herd of farmed deer grazing in the dark. They sensed his presence and fled in a great thunderous pounding of tiny hooves. Startled back, he jumped. Bloody things! And puny. They call those things deer? Shit! One would b e b arely enough for dinner. Having made all the animals flee elsewhere, he had the green pastures all to himself. The lights of the manor shone golden through the antique windows. He gave off admiring the view and shucked his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them in a pile beneath a large tree. With his hunting eyes, he reconnoitered the place and saw everything, all the dark corners made just for him. He scented the air and waited impatiently. Time crawled and he used it in remembrance. Allowing himself a final treat, Killian chose to remember only pleasurable things. His mind cooperated eagerly. Only thing was, all his pleasurable thoughts centered on one obsession only, one person. Colton Décarie. Their relationship still confounded him, and he couldn’t believe it and couldn’t understand it, knowing only he liked it. Colton was his enemy, and yet here he was about to die for him and he didn’t mind one bit. What a gift! There could be no greater will to bend and no greater submission earned. Colton was beyond compare. A shifter. At his feet. Bella Luna! The red ribbon flashed in his mind’s eye, beguiling and beautiful against that white neck. His hands ached to touch that pale skin again, his fingers to feel that powerful pulse leap. Truly, it leapt for him. For him! And that mouth. Being kissed by Colton Décarie was…goddamn wonderful. The best. He never held back, not ever. When he gave himself he gave it all. Of course Killian took it. Would be a fool otherwise, and Mama Frost, bitch she was, never raised no fools. Making love with Colton was pure bliss, whatever form it took, hands, mouths or his cock deep inside him thrusting them both to heaven, or bound and shackled, tied to his wall and him with a whip in his hand. If they both survived this night, he’d gladly take his black threads again, take the shame from Colton’s pure soul. And he’d take him in that slutty red dress too. Ripping that off would be very exciting. Aha! Shifter blood. They knew he was here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Naked and restless, Killian set his daydreams aside and checked his watch before chucking it onto the pile—it was time, ten to midnight, and he walked ahead, closing in on his target, his mind clear and ready. As he went, reveling in the feel of cold air on his skin, he wondered what they would taste like. What a thought. Disgusting. Used to their close proximity to all things werewolf, there was only one shifter ahead and he was in human form, walking fast and closing the distance between them. Did he wear a diamond bracelet? Curious, Killian would have to check. The scent of this shape-shifter was not as nice as Colton’s sweet fragrance. Pondering it, he advanced. It didn’t take long to figure out the difference, and it had nothing to do with his feelings for his pretty one. This one tasted off because he’d been corrupted and was now a dark one full of the seeping black. Confirming it, Killian opened his mouth and inhaled deeply. Yes. Corrupt to the core. Now he wouldn’t feel so bad killing him. His nakedness bespoke his intent quite clearly. Still, the wicked one offered up the ritual words. “Peace werewolf.” Killian refused to give it back. Peace, my ass. Instead, he said, “You have something that doesn’t belong to you and I want it.” The shifter remained human as he considered the odd words. Even though they were quite far apart, Killian saw the confusion on his face. “And what might that be?” “Nicola Décarie.” Of the billions of the things Killian could have said, this surprised the shifter utterly. “What concern is that of yours?” “Her son would like her back.” This shifter was slow on the uptake. Patient, Killian let him puzzle it out. It took quite a while. He was so used to dealing with Colton that he automatically assumed all shifters were smart. Guess not. When he finally got it, his expression was amusing. “So…he has a…pet werewolf?” “Or I have a pet shifter,” he said. “Either way, she’s a hostage and I’ll take her back for him.” “Not fucking likely, dark one.” “Come to me then, my corrupt one, and we’ll see.” Killian was faster. His shift to full wolf was almost instantaneous and as such he got to watch the shifter phase, actually shift into something else, a fascinating process. Colton was so incredibly fast that by comparison this seemed like slow motion, a picking apart of the physical bonds as opposed to the abrupt scattering apart of Colton’s shift. Before the panther burst out of the dull glow, Killian had closed the distance. Smug shifter was not expecting this! Cat eyes flashed in alarm. Shifters always had the edge. That’s why they paid so dearly in tears and thorns. In this case, that edge did not make up for the sheer immenseness of Killian’s size or his speed. Another gift from Colton. He’d learned to be fast in their single game of chase; his body remembered the way of it. This wasn’t a hunt. It was an execution. So many times he had kissed or touched that downy soft spot on the back of Blondie’s neck, that was where his massive jaws instinctively went with crushing force. His pounce was solid, legs crushing the big cat into the ground while his teeth tasted living flesh for the first time. It was all good. Later he could dwell on the shame of it, but right now hot blood flooded his mouth, making it water and him slobber with delight. Bones snapped. The cat lurched and contorted in an unwilling death spasm and it didn’t even manage to bite him once. Yanking hard, his teeth encircling a shifted spine stronger than steel, Killian Frost killed. The spine disengaged from skull and it was over, just like that. I’m a werewolf! Now he knew it with his gut, not just his mind. His blood raced and sang a victory song to his beloved Bella Luna. A sweet elixir danced across his tongue. But he had his pride. This would not be savage destruction, not a flesh-devouring event totally beneath him. Self-control was everything, and he would not rip and tear and shred. He wouldn’t! This was…b usiness. The others inside the house must have sensed the death, for they were on to him and already shifted, a pair of large wolves of indeterminate color, running at full speed. A prickle of unease rippled down his silver back. This would not be an execution, it would be a fight…and he had no idea how to fight. As human, yes, he’d pounded on a lot of family members asking for it, but as a wolf, no. Zip. Biting Colton didn’t count. Instinct would have to do and, if not, the shifters would be culling the weak from the werewolf gene pool. They came at him from opposite directions, deadly swift, arrows shot from the Huntress’ bow. So fast! Crimson hunting eyes missed nothing, and he could almost count every strand of corrupt fur. Graceful as a man, his wolf was also, and he leapt with ease, flying out of the way of the impending collision. Snarling and snapping, the two shifters missed him. His agile feet barely touched ground before he was airborne once again, tail flashing as he changed direction mid-air, landing solidly and getting his teeth around the neck of the lead chaser who’d gotten too close in his eagerness. Killian’s mouth was very large and the chunk inside it comprised not only throat, but chest and the skin and fur of the upper legs. Instinct worked well, and he clamped his teeth together and tore. Things ripped and loosened, but nothing came free on the first try. It took a second pull, and during that time the second shifter attacked. Fur flew. A dog fight ensued. Growls and snarls pierced the quiet night. The second shifter clawed him and bit simultaneously, nails tearing the loose skin between hind leg and abdomen completely apart while the teeth shredded his haunch into ribbons. White hot! Fucking b loody goddamnit! Lava and acid mixed together! Thinking only in curse words, Killian snapped and got lucky. A tasty ear and bit of scalp became his, a yummy morsel. The shifter with the missing neck was transforming, intent on repairing itself, and he knew he couldn’t let him come out of this shift ready and biting. Much faster with the shift, more like Colton, a cat appeared from the shimmering magic, something big, all spots and teeth. Missing an ear and spraying blood, the second shifter bit him again, getting mostly fur and providing Killian with an unprotected front leg. A savage tug and horrid crack removed it from the body—so easy—sending the wolf to the ground, his face spraying up dirt. Killian’s size was his advantage; it certainly wasn’t skill, of which he had none. Using the power of his front legs only, Killian pounced, a favorite thing in man form, and landed heavily on the spotted cat, causing a nasty flare-up of white hot in his hind- quarters. Must kill it. Kill it now! The spine. It was beneath him, under his paws, unprotected and his, his, his! Mine! In wild frenzy now, the relentless pain hot lava in his veins, he bit and snapped viciously, aiming for the gap between the high shoulder blades and the head, a small spot…but a weak link in need of exploiting. The spinal column was a chain of life and each vertebra a link. Impossibly strong canines took advantage of that weak link and death followed the sudden paralysis. Thank the fucking moon! Only one left. The lava cooled and hardened in his veins. Healing, his leg began to knit back together unnaturally fast, even for a werewolf. Wishing for more recovery time and not getting it, Killian faced the three-legged wolf that was now a four-legged leopard. Shifters and their damnable cats! Effective killers, all of them. Cats were fast, very fast, but they were slight, trading substance for agility. Speed was not on his side, but mass was, and he must find a way to use this to his benefit. Should be easy. Didn’t he use his size to his advantage all the time? And after all, the attacking thing was just a man in cat’s clothing—it would think like a man. When it leapt at him, Killian turned his head, braced his claws deep into the moist ground and used his shoulder as his shield and then as his battering ram. Jerking forward, he smashed into the cat with a resounding thump, sending it to the ground and providing the answer to that age-old question: cats truly do land on all fours. The body slam bought him the time he needed, and it was time well spent. Opening his big mouth wide, Killian accepted the cat’s entire head with a painful but necessary crack and snap of his jaw at the joints. More slobbering, his mouth now watering with pain and fury. Full to the max, it was impossible to unlock his jaws and clamp down. The cat gouged his chest, scoring deep fissures in the flesh, but mostly taking out clumps of thick fur. Concentrate! Think only of closing your mouth, nothing else. His mind tried, really it did, but what popped into his head was a seemingly errant thought, a delicious thought—making love to Colton the very first time. Okay…that first time it had been fucking him, but that’s when Bella Luna had first whispered in his ear and called his name. All that power. Flooding him just as his climax tore through him, filling him to bursting. Remembering it filled him again, the glow in his hunter’s eyes flaring brilliantly. A cat claw caught tight into bone. Red Hot! Like Colton, but backward, the cat was gutting him. Or trying to. Werewolf bone was unnaturally tough, not real bone at all, but shifted bone. It

would succeed, given enough time, despite the fact he was smothering it. Filled up full, the power in him surged. Rather than sprouting spikes of bone down his spine as werewolves were wont to do, he chose to enlarge his head. Bone crackled and his flesh made juicy wet sounds as it split apart and went back together into its new, larger size. Supersized. Red-hot pokers stabbing into his face! Now having leverage, his jaws crushed together, trying to meet and hoping to chew. If the cat could have screamed, Killian was sure it would have. Finally clueing in to its impending demise, the shape-shifter tried to shift his way to freedom and, if he’d done it sooner, it could have worked, it could have sucked him into the dull glow and Killian Frost might have ceased to exist. Instead of the shifter finding freedom in his enemy’s death, Killian sank his nasty pointed teeth into its skull, deep into delicate brain, and killed it mid-shift. Unhinging his jaws, he spat it out, darting away in case it wasn’t quite dead. Brain damage didn’t allow for shifting. A conscious effort was required, and the shifter would not rise again. Panting and suffering, Killian waited for the next onslaught to begin. Harsh, searing pain was as alien to him as being wrong, and he liked neither. Hopefully he had enough time to finish repairing himself before the next bundle of teeth and claws arrived. But there was…nothing. Nothing stirred in the night. Until something shimmered…the dull white glow came of its own accord, bestowing one final shift on the unlucky. In his pain and fury, he felt no sympathy as the human forms appeared on the ground before him, taking their injuries with them into death, a horrid sight. Had he done that? Ever-practical, his mind moved on, pressing ahead onto other things in need of killing. Better them than me, his inner voice said. I was b orn b lack, b ut my soul’s cleaner than theirs. Leaving the dead to their eternal rest, he tested his leg. Good as new. Sleek and sinuous once again, he went on the prowl. Step by step, the gouges on his chest closed over. His pride, his vanity, his lovely pelt grew in lush and thick, the silver flames curling into the black in beautiful harmony. Killian accepted he was pretty. Skulking silently, he reached the house . How thoughtful. In their haste they left a french door open for him. Another shifter was present inside, along with a slew of humans and not-quitehumans, male and female. Unconsciously, he catalogued their scents, four women and three men. And one stinking shape-shifter full of the black. There were only two possibilities here: one, the shifter inside was not very good and chose to remain in his human form hoping to stay alive…or two, he was waiting for assistance. Men with guns. A shot to the head would be fatal if it was of powerful enough caliber, but other than that…bee stings. Invited by omission, Killian entered. They had the women right there in that formal room, sitting uncomfortably as if bound. Dirty b astards! Worse than werewolves. The lone shifter gazed upon him with fear and curiosity. What an idiot. He wanted to talk. Killian would oblige him. Halting his transformation in reverse was just as easy. Handy weapons, he kept his claws and lots of silky fur, but went far enough along he got his voice box back and a tongue he could use to form words. The sharp teeth had to stay, unfortunately, pricking his shortened tongue. “Peace werewolf,” the stray shifter managed. The peace was very quiet, though, not really meant, but offered up. What, by rote? Habit? “Hello, shifter,” he replied. Man, did he sound nasty. Somewhat decent, the supposed protector and defender of human souls positioned himself in front of the women. Or did he plan on shielding his sorry self with their bodies, their lives, their souls? Only two of the human men were present, the third unaccounted for. “You will not survive this,” shifter man said. “We’ll see,” he said once again. Expert at reading people, Killian saw the man was torn, not knowing what to do. Shift or not shift? “Don’t bother shifting, my corrupt one,” he offered. “It won’t save you.” “You call me corrupt, dark hunter?” argued a lawyerly voice. “I do. I can see the shadows within you, consuming you. You’re full of the seeping darkness. Yes, I see them, all your threads of deepest black.” Guilt flickered in the shifter’s eyes. He knew what he was. “You need punishing,” he confirmed aloud. “I’ll take all your black threads now, my filthy, betraying shifter. Give them to me!” It was a sprint to the finish line, gold medal on the line. Another wolf to fight with. Fair, then—dog to dog, and they were both dirty dogs. They met in the middle of the room, women to one side, human males to the other. Again, Killian was larger, so much larger it was…no longer fair. These shifters were not only corrupt, but weak. Yes, they spent all their time kidnapping defenseless women and not enough hunting. They traded bites. Killian bit harder and deeper, and his saliva was slightly venomous to shifters, spreading fire in the blood. The shifter got more snips in, being quicker. Furniture got in the way, got destroyed, wood splintering. Blood sprayed, soaked carpets. Mostly shifter blood, but Killian wasn’t chintzy and, always fair, he shared. The report of gunshots echoed incredibly loud in the confined space and someone screamed, a female someone. Killian was master of self-control and did not allow himself to become distracted. Getting shot did not feel like a bee sting. Liars! It felt like getting shot. Red fucking hot! Yes, only red, a lick of red. Stupid Colton. Put those terms in his head and now they were stuck in there like a bad pop song from the radio. Red. Red. Red! Mindful of brain damage, Killian shielded his head with the shifter’s body. Stupid human shot him too, twice, the blood from the shattering shoulder spraying over his face. Delicious! Shifter man was forced to shift or bleed to death. Killian hoped it hurt all the way to white-hot. Taking the precious seconds of opportunity, Killian killed his first human. That was distracting. Fearful of the shift glow, he darted to the side and slew the shooter with one vicious throat bite, sending the gun flying across the bloody floor opposite the other human male. Human blood was phenomenal, absolutely tasty beyond compare. Fucking awesome! Killian couldn’t help but enjoy the taste—it was in his blood, calling to him. Humming vibrated the air of the room. What is that? It was like music…sweet, soft…breathtakingly eerie…lovely music. Distracted by it, he listened. No one else seemed to hear it. The other human had reloaded, was aiming and began firing. The first shot missed completely, the second struck the parquet floor, sending a sliver of wood into his leg like shrapnel from an explosion, and the third struck him high on his right front leg, shattering bone. Instinct moved him without his conscious input and the shooter missed the next shot. Crippled, Killian struck brokenly, but fast and better, accurately. His shattered leg barely hindered him. After all, he was still made of darkness and death and fed off that knowledge. One quick snip removed the offending human hand, gun included. Disgusting as he was becoming, he shoved aside the gun and ate the hand. Now only the man was screaming. The woman had shut up. The music was fading fast. What is that? His intrigued brain demanded he learn what it was. Find it. Find it now! A faint spark of light answered his question, an epiphany of such magnitude it was almost incapacitating. Staring, he froze. Tiny, but stunningly beautiful, the spark caught his eye, so much so he ignored the shifter completely, wondering over the sparkling, iridescent bit of light. A soul! It was a human soul. So b eautiful. Bella Luna! A wicked werewolf voice, his own, yelled in his ear…mine! You shall not b e forgiven. Mine. It’s mine. Mine! I must have it. No! Not for you, Colton’s voice whispered to him in the human part of his mind. The red ribbon tugged at him, a scarlet thread, staying his hungering will. You will not b e forgiven. Mine! I am a killing frost…killing, killing, killing… No! I won’t forgive you. No, you must forgive me! I’ll let it go. I won’t take it! I am what I choose to b e. My will is my own; of all things in the heavens or on Earth, that alone is mine. Killian Frost let it go. The siren call of the sweetest of all music died away, unheeded, and the untaken soul was left to begin its unknown journey. Shifter lawyer bit him savagely for this sacrifice. It was just a flesh wound. Ah, but it was so hot! A lion’s big bite, burning, burning and burning. Kill or b e killed! The shifter was trying for his spine and required a stepladder to get there. Vanity forgotten, Killian called upon his vast storehouse of power and sent it up along his spine in a rush. Spikes. Needle sharp. Excruciating pain accompanied their eruption through his skin. They speared stupid lawyer shifter right through the face. Killian would have liked to listen to the ensuing cat whimpering, but he was punishing someone. Was cruel to make them wait. Impaled, the cat was trying to squirm off. Killian flung himself, not a forward leap, but sideways, turning his body so that when he landed the cat was directly underneath him. The hit was hard and bones broke, some of them his. Best of all, it stunned the shifter, perhaps even to the point of being unconscious. With a single thought, he retracted what was left of the spikes. Ah! Agony! Soooo…red. Battered, Killian rose from the floor and finished extracting the seeping black from the recipient of his punishment, quickly and mercifully…mostly. And he wasn’t even going to get paid for services rendered—what a rip-off. The one-armed human was whimpering now too, and Killian considered punishing him further—his leg was screaming bloody murder. Then again, the man was disfigured and crippled now. Killing him would be murder, and Killian wasn’t a murderer. Giving a warning, he faced the man and growled. Whether he was understood or not, he couldn’t have said. He healed. Might have taken five minutes, maybe less. Killian’s sense of time passing was way off. Werewolves were hot-headed and temperamental, after all. What was time? The mantle clock said 12:09. Wow. Nineteen minutes. Seemed like hours. Stepping in blood and tracking it everywhere, he crossed to a window, curtains wide open, and gazed out. The moon was invisible, but no matter, he felt it, and let the sweet favor of Bella Luna wash over him, taking all his pain and filling him up all over again until he was whole. Time to conclude his business here. Shoving everything back into his man-sized body, even if he was a huge specimen, pained considerably and it felt weird being human again. Shaking it off, he retrieved both discarded guns, one for each hand. They seemed so small and inconsequential—how could they deal out so much pain and destruction? The live human was cradling his mangled arm against his chest, bleeding everywhere. “Hope that hurts,” he said in his politest conversational tone. “Where is the other human?” Bleeding human was being stubborn and defiant. “I punish defiance. Answer me!” “I don’t know,” he cried. “He’s just a servant!” Great. A fucking servant. Probably had a phone. “If you move from this room, I will eat your other hand. Got that?” In shock now, the human nodded. Killian left him on the floor and went searching, finding the last man standing, indeed a servant as mentioned, in the kitchen. He was huddled in the pantry and utterly defenseless, so Killian left him there pondering the error of working in a house of crooked shifters. On his way out, Killian wrecked the house phone just in case and hid the guns in a drawer. Out of the four women, two were crying. The other two were waiting for the worst, and those two were shifter females. The weeping two were pure-bloods—wrong time, wrong place? Colton’s mother, as promised, was pretty. Same blonde hair as Colton, mellowed by age now, and he’d gotten his hazel eyes from her as well, but his mouth came from elsewhere. For a woman in her mid-fifties, she was quite stunning. Actually, for any age she was stunning, easily looking ten years younger in her designer suit and dangerously high heels. Killian couldn’t help but notice the curve of her breasts outlined against the fabric of the thin camisole as she panted in fear. The other shifter female must be Nicola’s relative. Her facial structure was similar, but her coloring was all shades of brown. Naked and feeling proud of himself, Killian walked over to them, watching the dread come alive with each step closer he got. Rather fascinating. “Ladies,” he said in greeting. Being as non-threatening as possible, he gave them a moment to compose themselves. The humans just blubbered away, but two out of four pulled themselves together. There was not much time, others might come—would come—but he couldn’t rush them. They’d be useless falling apart. “Nicola Décarie?” he asked. Correct as he always was, she nodded. Shifter women were made of tough stuff. Expecting to die a horrible death, she still had the fortitude to accept her fate with more class than he’d ever have. “Colton asked me to come and fetch you,” he said. “I was expecting you, but who the hell are they?” Unable to comprehend, she stared. White, plastic tie-downs had been used to secure feet together and wrists tight. They could cut like wire, and Killian was offended. He never used such a thing on anyone. The dead human body yielded up a folding knife, as he knew it would. He used it to release the four, and none of them appreciated his courtesy. Instead, they cringed in

horror. Should’ve left their hands tied. Now they’d be nothing but trouble. But he’d take them all—they’d all been bound, so they’d all have to come with him for the time being. “Let’s go, ladies. Got no time for socializing. Haven’t got all day.” They didn’t budge. “Don’t make me punish you as well, not that I don’t love doing it,” he said coldly. “But I have no intention of harming any of you. Do you think you’ll get the same treatment remaining here?” Nicola spoke first, the self-appointed leader of the pack. “Who are you?” She was staring at him openly now, trying to determine if she knew him, which she did. “Killian Frost.” Her eyes popped open wide. “Frost?” “Yes. And I’ve come a long way to get you and gone through considerable trouble. So! If you don’t mind, we have to go.” “Go where?” “Does it matter? Away from here.” Confusion was the main emotion, more so than fear, but he had no time to tell the whole story. “I’ll explain on the way. But I’m in a hurry, and if you don’t come the easy way, then I’ll take you the hard way, and Colton wouldn’t like that.” Killian wasn’t eager to fight more shifters, so he took Nicola by the hand and pulled her off the couch. She recoiled in horror, revolted, trying to get away from his impossibly tight grip. Ah! An unwilling woman. Delightful as they were, he was in a hurry. “Come along now.” And he dragged her toward the door. “The rest of you are welcome to join us, but I only promised to rescue the one, so I don’t really care if you come or not.” Nicola’s relative came instantly. They sure stuck together, shifters, even the women. Rather impressive, considering werewolf women were more likely to offer up each other as a sacrifice to save themselves. “Humans!” he called over his shoulder, having reached the door. “Get your sorry asses over here right now. Don’t make me come over there and get you!” How did he get himself into these things? It was supposed to be one woman. One! Not two shifter females and two useless, sobbing humans. At least they were coming, having decided that maybe he was, after all, the lesser of two evils. His hand he kept tightly on Nicola Décarie. They passed the dead shifters, and all he heard was shocked gasps. At the tree, he retrieved his clothes. “You took a long time getting your revenge,” Nicola finally said as he pulled on his jeans. “Revenge?” “For your brother.” Rolling his eyes, he pulled on his shirt. “Not that again. As I told Colton, that’s ancient business. And he was only a half-brother and a moron to boot. Your son did us all a favor weeding the weak from the pack.” Nicola offered up her next point. “Did you…” her voice finally cracked, “kill Colton?” Ah, stupid mothers! “No, I did not. Surely want to sometimes, but no.” Part of Killian had considerable anger toward Colton’s family, though. He remembered his face that first day when he knelt down and offered up his life. “But he’s trying very hard to kill himself.” She sobbed, as he wanted. “He’s gone to his hearing before your crooked Council,” he said coldly. “Want to know what he was wearing?” At least she looked him straight in the eye. “A lovely, blood red dress.” Her pain was so strong, it reached out to him. Was he really without pity? “You left him so alone he came to my door begging for death.” “Oh God,” she cried. “And I refused him. So don’t bother looking at me like I’m the devil himself.” Saying no more, he finished dressing and led the quad to his car, left exactly where he’d put it. Unfortunately, three werewolves were waiting on the lawn for him. Could this night get any crappier? “Get in the car,” he warned. “I’ll just be a sec.” It was the fastest the four had ever moved. “So…” one said. “You brought dinner for us? And a side of souls?” “Mine,” he said. “Greedy, are you? Then we’ll have to insist you share.” His red eyes came back with his temper. “I just killed four shifters. You sure you want a piece of me?” They did. And in unison, they phased. Killian marked two of three for death. The third was just young, maybe seventeen, and stupid. He’d get his, but live through it. Fighting werewolves was fine by him, having no loyalty and knowing his kind all too well. His clothes ripped apart as he did likewise, the thrill of the speed and strength of it undiminished, a blur that cleared only as his big mouth ended the yappy Brit’s snotty attitude. In a hurry, he killed him quick, ripping and tearing. Evidently it was hard regenerating a whole new body when it was separated from your head. This drove the other adult mad, but the younger one seemed to be thinking things through twice. Like weeding a garden, Killian plucked legs one at a time. After the first two, the wolf’s berserker rage dimmed, and it writhed on the ground, trying to defend itself. The young one shifted back to human and began begging. Ah. Begging. “Stop it!” he cried. “Leave him. Please don’t kill him!” Always a sucker for begging, Killian paused after weeding a hind leg. It would take a long time and lots of pain, but they’d regenerate. Again, he’d get no payment! Damn, but he was soooo gonna take it out of Colton’s ass. Half-shifting again, he took back his face enough to talk. “It’s a lucky thing for you I’m fond of the begging.” The one on the ground snapped at him, but it was all for show. Still. Killian jabbed him through shoulder flesh with his claws for the insult and for the bite he did manage to get in. Now the boy was begging with his eyes. A fine thing to watch. Leaving the adult to his personal, three-legged torment, Killian retracted his claws and advanced on the boy, fully human and madder than hell. The kid took his punishment as a man. Killian gave him a heap of fisted thorns for being stupid. It was all good. Popping the trunk, Killian dressed from his meager supply of clothing, throwing the torn ones inside, hiding evidence. Who knew how these weirdo wolves behaved? Then it was back on the road again. “Sorry about the delay, ladies. The guide books never seem to mention these kinds of inconveniences,” he said, shoving his jacket sleeves up. Damn, but he was hot! And stupid too. Admitting it pained greatly. He’d left Colton’s nice neat map on the seat. Oh well. Done was done. If they wanted to meet up with him later, he’d take more than legs next time. When they reached the ruins it was still early, dawn still hours away. How many hours would he have to suffer the waiting? Damn you, Colton. The urge to go get him was mountain high and river deep, and he flung open the door so hard it bounced on its hinges, the rebound nailing him in the legs. Pacing, he completely forgot his four passengers crammed in the back seat. It startled him when Nicola spoke to him. Ruminating, he’d not even heard the car door open. “What is this place?” she asked. “Just a meeting place,” he snapped back. “Who are we meeting?” Pity had not abandoned him completely. Nicola Décarie was punishing herself far better than he ever could, so he gave some up to her. “Colton. I hope.” That lovely face contorted in misery, a voiceless question in her heart. “If he lives.” “But…I thought…you said…red robes?” Mothers! Grieving ones sucked the anger and frustration right out of you. “Red as death. But he meant to deal out death nine times, not just take it for himself.” Intelligent, Nicola sparked to the knowledge immediately. “Oh God,” she whispered. “They’re all full of the seeping black. They’ve got it coming. You should be proud. So proud of him! Do you know what it took for him to pull himself together and take up this one last duty?” Mad again, he found he was yelling at her. “Do you?” He lowered his voice. “He’s gonna take their shifts and thorns and kill them all!” Killian saw the moment she took back her defiance. It was all in the shoulders—like mother, like son. “Good,” she said simply. Women. Never made any sense. “You agree, then, with that decision?” “Yes. They’ve lost their way, gotten corrupt. And they murdered my son’s wife. Did you know that?” “Yeah.” “It just about killed him.” “Yeah, well, he got some fucking spine and decided to kill them instead.” “Did you talk him into it?” Did he? “No. He knew it all along. I just helped him see it. He’s a stubborn little bastard.” She was working up the nerve to ask him the big question. “Why…?” Her hand gestured in futility at him. “Bella Luna’s a cruel mistress,” he said. “The balance between light and dark was about to slip away, and she whispered in my ear and gave me the opportunity to prevent it. So I took it.” Last thing Killian felt like was having a philosophical debate, regardless of whether or not they had the time for it. “I just don’t understand…how Colton…and you—” “And you never will.” Right there on the dirt and rocks, she sat, collapsing her head into hands, catching her tears. Killian had no idea how to react, what to say or do. Grief was not something he’d ever had close acquaintance with. Colton was full of it, and now he’d given it to his mother. Death was part of life for shifters, and if the boys hunted, the possibility of dying went hand-in-hand, yet they loved hard and freely despite that knowledge. Go figure. Stupid shifters. Is that why Colton gave himself so freely and so completely? Because he knew he could lose it all at any moment? Another epiphany! Killian was thoroughly sick of them. Ignorance really was bliss. Feeling fully wolfish, he prowled like one, from one end of the property to the other, back and forth, filled with indecision. The human females stayed in the car while Nicola’s companion crawled onto the ground with her and offered comfort. After wearing off some of his frustration, he lowered himself to the ground beside the women, determined to seek advice from the last person he ever would have thought. “Colton told me to wait here with you until dawn and if he didn’t show, I was to take you home and hand you over to Drayton and no one else.” Both ladies looked up at him questioningly, some of their horror having abated. “I’m very impatient. I hate waiting. I want to go get him.” Not only thinking Killian was the devil, they obviously also thought him stark, raving mad. Their expressions were easily read. “If he was successful in his duty, he might need some help getting back out. But I don’t want to leave you undefended. I promised. So I ask you…what would you have me do?” No control again. Major suckage. Gathering her courage, Nicola answered him. “There’s no way he could have lived, Mr. Frost. How could he? There’re nine of them and they’re some of the best shifters in the world.” The swallowing was visible, but she said, “He’s dead.”

Invisible, but as magic as both he and Colton were, the red ribbon pulled tight against his hand, a whisper of mercy from Bella Luna. “No,” he said in quiet awe, “he’s not.” Lowering her head, Nicola disagreed without words. “I just know,” he answered her unspoken question. “Do you understand, Nicola Décarie, just how powerful your son is?” “Of course I do. He’s my son.” Ah. No, she didn’t. The knowledge of her ignorance came to him, a weak link. Colton sure did keep his secrets. “Did you know he has the dragon shift inside him?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Everything was so absurd, he had to laugh. “Saw him do it myself. It was just a mini, half-formed one, nothing like your Prince of Thorns or anything, but it was all scales, wings and teeth.” The image flashed in his mind in full color detail. “Very pretty,” he muttered. “He said he was born with the ability to shift others, including werewolves, and that the Prince showed him how to do it.” A prickle of interest sparkled. “He told you that?” “Yes.” “Why would he tell you that?” “That’s how he planned to kill them. He said he would take their shifts from them and get all their thorns. Then they’d be defenseless.” Killian rather admired the strategy. “Simple, but effective.” Debating was taking too much time. “Do you have some place safe you could hide? Where all the shifters you know would never think to look for you?” “If I did, what would you do?” “I would go to this underground fortress of yours and find Colton.” “He told you about that?” Now she was horrified and disgusted. “I have ways of making him talk.” Giving her a moment to think about it, he got off the ground and continued his pacing. Barely two minutes passed before she stood and called to him with her gaze alone. “If you go, I go.” “I was supposed to save you, not put you right into their hands.” “That’s the deal. The only one I’m offering.” Nicola was all stubbornness and defiance. This time he was going to lose. Why fight it? “What about them?” He nodded to the car. “They’ll disappear.” Shifter women were good at that. Sometimes it was necessary, although they usually ran from werewolves, not their own kind. “Let’s go.” He smiled wickedly at Colton’s mother. “Let’s hunt!” She didn’t like his words, but seemed to take them to heart nonetheless. They made good time. It was the middle of the night, but he dropped the two human females and the other shifter woman in the middle of nowhere—literally. Nicola assured him it would be fine; things weren’t always as they appeared. The fortress beckoned.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After twisting Nicola from unwilling and horrified into willing and able, Killian followed her lead and they entered the ultimate shifter fortress by following a series of dark passages and alleys and two noisy pubs until they found what she was looking for: an unguarded entry. Once again, Killian discovered respect for a Décarie. It was necessary to break in and, fortunately, shifted claws were better than any set of lock picks. “Yuck! What a smell,” he complained as they stumbled down a narrow and mossy stairwell. The passage was filled with a revolting mixture of sewer gasses, gasoline, stale air and dead things. Rats. Dead and alive. Disgusting to endure, even for a werewolf. “Jesus Christ,” he continued griping. “Was that a dog?” “Best I could do,” she replied from behind her shielding hand. “Eww!” The stone tunnel went pitch black. Summoning up his hunting eyes helped considerably, but even they did not work well in the absolute absence of light. The passage glowed with crimson light. Water flooded the floor two inches deep, rank and polluted. “I’m gonna carry you.” “No you’re not!” “Okay, fine. Walk, then. But you know…there are rats in here. Some of them dead. Floaters. See?” That worked. No woman liked rats. He scooped her up into his arms and tried not to take her revulsion personally. Killian let instinct guide him. Whichever passage smelled better he followed, thinking the worst smelling ones were likely dead-ends holding in the stench. Filthy water revolted him as it lapped up his legs. If he was anything, it was fastidious. After about fifteen minutes of touring the depths of Hell, the water was gone, the air fresher and the tunnel wider. “You can put me down now,” Nicola complained. “No,” he answered back. “I like fondling your nice ass.” “You’re disgusting!” “So I’ve been told. And it’s entirely true.” To be annoying, he squeezed the flesh in his palm and let her go, but kept her hand. “Hold tight. I don’t think you want to get lost down here.” Agreeing, she followed easily. Damn, but her hand was so soft and tiny in his it was shocking. He’d already grown used to holding a larger hand. Finally! A light glowed dimly ahead. “Let’s try there,” she said. “How soon before they sense me?” “Already have,” she said wryly. “I imagine they’ll think you’re above them, not down here.” “Splendid.” An iron gate barred their passage to the light. Stronger than the last one, it required ten minutes of clawing to free the gate’s hinges from the stone and mortar it was encased in. But he was patient. Goddamn bloody patient! Not. Now all he had to do was get through the very heavy steel door behind the light—twenty minutes. Tops! “Don’t suppose you have a key?” “I have something better.” “Yeah?” “My name.” “Well, fuck,” he griped. “You coulda told me.” Then, “Nicola?” “Yes?” “You know I’m gonna have to kill, don’t you?” Indeed, she did. Her face was as readable as Colton’s. “Yes.” “They might be…people you know.” “I may know them, but they’re not my friends, are they?” “Fair enough. But if it bothers you, just remember they tried to hunt Colton to his death. Planned it and then watched him suffer, proud and basking in their corruption.” “Don’t let them get you.” “Is that, like, a pep talk?” “All you’re gonna get. I don’t like you. I can’t believe I have to rely on one of you to do what should have been done years ago.” “Thanks, Mom.” When she stopped shuddering, he kissed her cheek. Before he made her physically ill, he shoved her toward the door, finally letting go of her hand. “Back off,” she advised before flipping open a small keypad comprising only a single button. “Don’t be seen.” Creeping into the shadows, he tamped down his red eyes and waited for Nicola to work her open sesame magic and get the door open. Truly, it took only her name and the door opened electronically. Killian guessed they’d have about ten seconds before something with big teeth greeted them. Once again he was busy peeling off his clothes, heaping them and their filth by the door before they entered. No one greeted them at the door. Except cameras and whatever electronic surveillance was employed. It would be soon. “If we find your husband, or anyone else trustworthy, make sure you tell them not to attack the silver-backed werewolf.” She gave him a slight smile. “I’ll do that.” “Uh-huh.” “I will.” “Ladies first.” “Aren’t you chivalrous.” “I’ll protect you.” “I’m sure.” “To the death,” he said, altogether serious. Stopping in her tracks she turned and looked at him. “Really?” “Yes. I promised your son.” Evidently Nicola knew the way, or at least knew how to decipher the color-coded stripe he suddenly noticed discreetly painted on the walls. Keeping close, prepared to shove her behind him at the first sign of trouble, he let her take him deeper into the shifter headquarters. “Why is nobody coming?” he asked.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered back. “Good.” They came to a four-way fork, three directions to choose from. “This way,” she said, following the blue line. “Important hearings are usually held in the main chamber. It’s open to an audience.” “They let people watch their executions?” “We don’t execute people! Where do you get these ideas?” She muttered something under her breath and ended it by saying, “Colton,” with an annoyed sigh. Ahead, behind a closed doorway in the blue wing, came the sounds of a struggle. It was nasty; made his hair stand on end. Two shifters? A piercing cat scream of agony escaped the confines of the room and rang in their ears beyond the door. “You’ll have to tell me which one to kill, Mama Décarie.” “Uh…okay,” she said fearfully. “If I know.” What a crappy task to assign anyone. But he had no idea who was friend and who was foe and she would. He transformed, filling the hallway with his bulk. Nicola, a lady to the end, gracefully opened the door for him. Hell was breaking loose. The sewer passage was just the garden path to Hell. This was the front parlor. Screaming cat now gone, two wolves were having a vicious fight in the reception area. Nicola didn’t have to tell him who to attack, after all. They gave it away themselves. Both smelled him instantly—acid on their tongues!—but only one cared. The good one. The other took advantage of the momentary lack of concentration on the other’s part, and, totally ignoring him like it was a-okay to have a werewolf watching, attacked with renewed vigor. Killian leapt into the fray, crushing the dark shifter into the ground and killing it with a perfectly executed neck bite as it strove to rip out the throat of the other wolf. The dirty one had been so sure of his allegiance, he’d never considered the danger. Cursed seeping black. It went deep. The good wolf was grievously wounded. Fearing the shift glow, Killian backed off. Nicola yelled from the doorway, “Shift to human. I must speak with you!” The wolf yelped a gurgled yelp and phased. The resultant man didn’t look much better and collapsed on the floor in a slick of his own blood. He was useless. If he could speak with that mess of a throat, Killian would get down on his knees and kiss his ass. Conveying his sentiment, he growled softly at Nicola and nodded to a door. Once again, Nicola was doorman and wisely shielded herself with the thick panel as she did. Another room, another blood bath, complete with bodies. And two shifters ready to fight. More cats. Bloody hell! The smell of black rot was so strong he could taste it in his mouth, like crude oil on his tongue. Killian forgot everything else as he fought them, falling into his werewolf senses deeply and fully, giving control over to the wisdom of his blood. They’d already fought this night, making his job easier, for they were tired and being tired and fearing the increasing pain of each subsequent shift, they were slow and not working as a team. They fell to his superior strength, one after the other, and joined the chilling bodies on the floor, but not before sharing some thorns with him. Blood matted his fur and dripped on the floor. In his mind, Killian smiled. They’d probably put those bodies there in the first place and now joined them—justice served. A trail of blood droplets directed them down the hall to a massive set of ornate doors, and Killian just knew what lay beyond. Judges’ chambers. Calling to him, overpowering every other scent and the delicious smell of human and shifter blood, was Colton’s wonderful, clean scent. Mine! Forgetting his lagging charge, he ran down the hall and flung himself at the doors. They bowed most spectacularly, but remained stubbornly shut. Nicola came from behind and opened them with one squeeze of the handles. They’d found the devil’s lair down in the pit of Hell. The massive chamber, cold with its endless marble floors and walls, was all blood and destruction; the floor fairly flowed with the liquid of life, tacky and drying. Body parts littered the floor. Good God! What the hell did that? Ah…but…he knew. Bella Luna! He’d never seen anything like it. A single, living shifter had propped himself against a fallen chair and was eyeing him with horror and misery. It was a good one, full of the light like the one he’d helped in the reception room, but no threat. He was dying. Nobody else was near. Killian’s senses relayed information about other life forms in the building, but no immediate threats, despite the large numbers. Fighting was still raging, but he paid it no mind. Nicola Décarie was gagging, trying not to retch, and that was harder to ignore. Giving up his werewolf fur, he transformed, acutely uneasy in his naked human skin and his fragile human body. Following his senses, he walked through the carnage and found that which had so quickly become so important to him. Colton lay crumpled in a bloody heap. The ribbon tugged him forward, wound him closer and pulled him in. Bodies everywhere! So many. Bella Luna! Even…incredible as it was…werewolf bodies. Killian tripped over them. Climbed over them. Finally understanding the meaning of grief, Killian knelt down in the gore and took the fallen body into his big arms. So icy! Dead cold. The blond head lolled limply. For all that he was cold as death and bloody, Colton didn’t have any apparent injuries, just sticky, clotting blood trickling out his nose. “Colton?” he choked out over the burning hot lump in his throat. No reply. “You promised!” Killian cried angrily. “You promised me! Goddamnit! You promised me.” Nicola finally braved the carnage and approached, crying once again, tears falling like rain. “Is he…dead?” He wasn’t—yet. “No.” It was his senses that told him, not any human knowledge. But he was going…going away! Leaving him. Taking the limp body tighter into his arms, he brought Colton’s head up against his shoulder where it fell against his chest, nose buried against his neck, smearing blood. Mindless of the dying man’s mother and her anguish, Killian pressed his mouth against the white neck just below his jaw, a spot he’d kissed so many times before and felt the fire of his life thrumming there. Under his lips, Killian felt the blood flow, so faint now, so slow. For the first time ever, that pulse did not leap for him. Everything vanished; the room disappeared. The only scent he smelled was Colton’s—so sweet, so unknowable, all others washed away. Killian’s breathing slowed and his pulse calmed, trying to catch, then match, the much weaker rhythm beating against his lips. Never having cried before, Killian was not aware of the wet prickle against his lids or the burning pain carried by tears. “Don’t go, Colton,” he whispered in his ear. “You promised me you would try! You said you’d save some of yourself for me. Come back to me,” he begged. Giving it all up, Killian Frost begged for all he was worth. “Come back to me,” he repeated, voice going hoarse. “Don’t get all stubborn and defiant on me! You said you wanted to live. Don’t give up now! Fight it, Colton. Fight it and come back to me!” Returning his lips to the pulse point, Killian tasted the bitterness of defeat. The pulse was weakening. Unable to keep his promise, Colton was drifting away, the power of the ribbon waning at last. “Don’t go! Stay with me, pretty one! Stay!” The room was filling up, a crush of dozens of shifter souls saturating his senses, and pressing against him almost physically. Faintly, he heard Nicola sobbing. Whispering voices tugged at him, but he ignored them—didn’t he know he was going to die? It had been accepted as the price to be paid. They could have him. He’d not fight back. Then, all at once, the whispering ceased. Someone arrived. The immense power radiating off that someone could not be ignored as it crawled up his spine and dug claws into his bones. Sparing a flick of his eyes, Killian watched its owner approach. The creature came slowly, seemingly full of…curiosity? Death would come for him on swift wings this night, big leathery ones glittering along the edges with beautiful, red scales tipped a shimmering pink. Big, scaly and clawed, the thing was still stunningly beautiful and an impossible sight. The world had no room left in it for dragons, not even the smaller version made for one-on-one combat in tight spaces. It looked like an angel. And it was—the angel of death. The angel had impossibly blue eyes. Beyond blue. Completely unconsciously, Killian’s eyes flared to hunt mode, blood red and fierce, full of Bella Luna’s love. Reacting to the presence, his blood called to him—he couldn’t help it. He was a werewolf! But human he remained. It would not pain his vanity one bit to be killed by that most incredible of all shape-shifters. There was no shame in falling to the Prince of Thorns. Dull white light flickered. One second the beautiful red dragon was there, and the next there stood a lovely boy, his hair so blond it was almost white. Not really a boy—he was huge, as tall as he, but all gangly arms and teenaged limbs. Jealousy raged inside him. Colton was dying for that freakish boy! Killian glared at him with hate, fearless. The young man crouched down, totally unafraid, and reached for Colton, touching his dangling arm with one finger. Furious and possessive, Killian snarled, “Mine!” Startled, the Prince pulled back and cocked his head to one side. Like Colton, he was incredibly pretty, beyond handsome, his eyes absolutely riveting and begging you to stare. His lip curled slightly at the corner. “I’ll give him right back. I promise.” A promise from the Prince of Thorns? Strange as it was, Killian believed. The extraordinary boy radiated the same honesty as Colton, so thick you could feel it. “Mine,” he confirmed. Then, reluctantly, achingly, he handed him over. The best shape-shifter in the world had not grown into his man’s body, so he couldn’t hold Colton securely. Gentle, he laid him on the marble, touched his chest, smiled and said to him most sweetly, “Give me your thorns.” The dull white glow took them both. Shocked, Killian had no time to move, and it didn’t matter. The shift had been so tightly directed by its master he was in no danger of it catching him in its hungry mouth. But it went on forever, that glow. And it was empty. Nothing grew from the vortex, no shapes emerged. His hands ached with their emptiness. Were they gone forever? An eternity later, the glow shimmered and deposited two bodies back onto the floor, human bodies, shifted from self to self. It must have been a painful journey, for the Prince was flushed and suffering, taking the thorns requested, and those thorns were both bitter and sharp. The second body was still unconscious. Greedy, Killian snatched it back into his arms. They could all stare at him in horror, he didn’t care—there was no shame in what he felt. But he wouldn’t shame Colton in front of his Prince and mother, so he kept his mouth to himself and held him with slightly less possessiveness. “Let him find his way back,” the Prince advised. “He’s strong. Give him a minute.” There was no way Killian was going to thank him. This was his fault! Well, most of it. “Why are you here?” he asked instead. “I could ask the same of you.” “You should have helped him sooner.” “I know that now.” It wasn’t forgiveness he gave, but understanding. He really was just a kid. “Can I talk to him before you kill me?” The Prince’s head tilted to one side again, his habit. “Why would I kill you?” Stupid shifter. “I’m a werewolf.” The boy laughed. “Yes, thanks, I know,” he said. “But you have no captive souls within you. I think I can forgive you.” “I have killed tonight.” “So have I,” he admitted back. “So you’ll…what? Just let me walk on out of here?” Another soft laugh. “Yes.” “What about Colton?” “Take him with you.” The Prince gave him a wide smile as he figured everything out. “I’m somewhat afraid of getting bitten by you.” Who was this weird kid? “I really don’t know what’s going on between you two, but…” The Prince was at a loss for both words and explanation. “Just…just take him some place where he can rest. Be at peace. Hide

him well, okay? Disappear! Can you do that?” “Yes.” “Send him back in a few months. When everything’s settled down.” “What?” “In one piece.” “Maybe.” “You’ll have to share him.” “I hate sharing.” “Me too.” A new, hushed voice joined the conversation. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” “Be quiet, Colton,” the Prince shushed. “I’m negotiating with this disturbingly large werewolf.” His eyes remained closed, but he smiled weakly. “Be careful. A Frost always likes to get the best of any bargain.” “Damn. Why do I always get myself into these things?” “You’re nosy,” Colton answered. “Good thing too. You idiot! Did you have to take them all on at once?” The Prince shook his head in disbelief. “Who ratted on me?” “My father.” “What?” “He’s taken up quite the hobby with electronic surveillance,” the boy explained. “Spy versus spy, or something like that, he says. Hacked the Council’s whole security system a while back. I guess he mistrusts men in girly red dresses. You made him panic.” “And he told you?” Colton asked, incredulous. “Of course not! I was worried—he was worried. He paces like mad. So I hacked his computer.” When Colton opened his eyes, the Prince winked. “I know all his passwords!” The smiling face grew serious. “Go comfort your mother, Colton. She’s crying. Then take your possessive and bloody big werewolf and get lost. He’s scaring the other shifters.” “Pussies,” Killian huffed. “Peace werewolf,” the Prince said, smiling again. “Peace Prince of Thorns,” Killian answered as the Prince left, totally oblivious to the mess under his feet and heading over to the other fallen shifter to work his strange magic. “I think he’s retarded,” Killian said down to Colton. Blondie gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever received. “You came for me.” “You get into too much mischief when you’re by yourself.” “I got them all, Killian.” “So I see. And what looks like a few hundred others.” “That was later.” “And you can tell me all about it later. Right now there’s a really big man wanting to kill me. Or you. Or both of us. I think it’s your dad.” Summoning up the energy, Colton pushed himself upright. “Yep.” “Go to them. Before your mother has a nervous breakdown. I really hate screeching women.” It was hard appearing graceful when stark naked and blood-spattered and intending to face your parents’ wrath, but Colton managed it somehow. Killian took him up off the floor with him, and Colton never wavered or pulled away, making him proud. “Tell them I’m just a crazy werewolf shunned by my own kind and that I’m strangely infatuated with you,” he whispered. “Tell ’em you think I’m so pathetic you can’t even kill me.” “No, Killian, I won’t. I’m not ashamed. I’m not going to hide anything.” “Colton…don’t.” “You’re infatuated with me?” “No,” he disagreed. Killian was almost always truthful. He usually couldn’t be bothered lying and wouldn’t now. “I’m in love with you.” Instead of answering, Blondie stared in astonishment. Then, in full view of everyone, reached a hand up, skimmed it across his jaw, pulled his head down and kissed him full on the mouth. “Thank you, my wicked one,” he said, pulling back. “For rescuing my mother. For everything!” Without regret censuring his actions, he turned and went to reassure his stunned parents. Alone and left that way, Killian took up a position toward the back, the spot where nine evil shifters had once sat and plotted and schemed for the downfall of two warring races. Lifeless now, they all still wore their black robes and black dresses. Their deaths had been quick, full of a mercy they never showed their reluctant executioner. As Killian examined the bodies, he felt the weight of many eyes upon him, heavy as questing hands. Occasionally he flicked his eyes up and met theirs and saw the confusion and bewilderment, the total lack of understanding. What he didn’t see, however, was hatred. The usual hostility was absent. Was the Prince truly that tolerant? How could that be? What would happen next? He’d made no plans. Expecting only death, Killian now felt lost, adrift in confusion. Naked men prowled the room, eyeing him without trying to be obvious about it, their power slapping at him. Colton’s dad had glared at him with utter disgust several times before leading his family out of the room, away from the scene of endless death. Passing a few moments in idle fantasy, Killian wondered how the hell all the dead, and their assorted body parts, were going to get explained to the cops. Wary and evidently burning from the proximity to his werewolf blood, a naked shifter beckoned to him from the doorway. With nothing else to do, Killian decided to heed the summons and follow the dark-haired shifter. If it was a trap and led to death, then so be it; he was still vaguely stunned he was still alive as it was. His stench evidently sickened the shifter, and he kept his distance. “Do I reek of rotting death?” Killian asked him, not really expecting an answer. Taken aback, the shifter startled. “No. Actually…you smell…odd.” He arched one brow. “Smoke. You smell…smoky. Like…a fire. Sort of…almost…pleasant.” All shifters were weirdoes, and this one was twitchy and fearful besides. “I’m not going to shift and bite you.” “No?” “You’re clean. Not full of the seeping black.” “And that matters?” “To me it does.” “Oh,” he said, still confused, and opened a door in a hallway marked with green stripes. “Wash,” the strange shifter said. “The clothing on the bed should fit you well enough. I must lock you in, I’m afraid, but we mean no…disrespect. Someone will come for you.” Killian rolled his eyes. “Sure. Bet I could get out if I wanted.” “Perhaps. If you wish it. Be at peace, werewolf.” Agile and fast, the shifter exited the room in a rush and the door slid decisively shut. Gory, filthy and smelly, Killian did shower and tried not to worry. What kind of retribution would Colton face for wiping out the entire Council? What would happen now that there wasn’t one? How long would he have to wait? His last question got answered first—not long. And it was Colton himself who came for him, hair wet, pale as death, shaky and exhausted-looking. Unlike him, who’d been given khaki trousers and white tee a size too small, normal clothes, Colton was once again in a dress, less flashy this time and steel blue, not red, and robe-less. When the door closed, he fell backward against it with a sigh of relief. “You look very pretty,” Killian said. “Fuck you.” Knowing he was being watched and heard, Killian said nothing personal, but the effort cost him. His lip twitched. “You are…well?” “No! I feel like shit.” “You need a vacation.” “Got any suggestions?” “One or two.” The effort it took to remain where he was and not walk the few feet between them and grab Colton into his arms was enough to make his head vibrate. Blondie wanted to come to him, that was plain, his eyes were already there. So unfair. They had a wordless conversation full of want and need and ache. “They want you gone.” “Do you blame them? I’m defiling their sanctuary with my cursed werewolf blood.” “No, that’s not the reason. I think they’re scared of you.” “Well, I am a supremely wicked werewolf.” Why did everything have to be so hard? “I have to give you up, don’t I?” Colton shook his head. “No.” He circled his neck with a finger. “Yours.” For once, instead of asserting his ownership, Killian blinked slowly in acknowledgment and said, “Yours.” “I get to escort you out. The front door, this time.” “You don’t honestly think I’ll stand back and let them harm you, do you?” “They won’t! Everything’s fine, Killian, you don’t need to worry about me. I only did my duty.” “The Prince said I could have you for a few months.” Colton offered up his shy smile and once again it hurt his heart. “So I heard. Go home, Killian.” His smile grew into the happy one he’d glimpsed so briefly at that cottage. “I keep dreaming of a place by the ocean. Not tropical, some place with endless sky and big trees and violent thunderstorms. And so quiet that when its calm you can hear the pine needles falling to the ground. A place where the water is so dark and deep it’s the color of your eyes. Do you think there’s such a place left on Earth?” “I think so. Shouldn’t be much of a challenge to find that for you.” “Be quick. Three days.” The tight squeezing pain in his chest lifted abruptly. “Bring one of those red dresses with you.” “Oh God,” Colton said, sucking in a fearful breath. “I punished a lot of people tonight, Blondie, and you’ll pay me for it.”

A deep sigh of agreement came out along with, “Yes, Killian.” “Then we have a bargain, pretty one.” “No, not yet we don’t. We need to seal the deal.” The red ribbon tugged tight across his palm and, as if he felt it around his neck reeling him in, Colton drifted closer, his face so earnest and so beautiful Killian could scarce draw a breath. “They’re watching, Blondie.” “Everyone knows. Let them watch.” “Don’t,” he whispered. All he could see was that lush red mouth getting closer, lips begging to be kissed. “Yes.” “No.” “Give it up!” Needing it just as much, Killian gave in and reached out his yearning hand. “Give me your mouth, pretty one.” When their lips met, Killian could barely kiss him, he was so uncoordinated and shaky, his eyes were burning and he was crushing Colton against him so tightly neither of them could breathe. Ah. There it was…the heartbeat speeding up! Colton’s pulse leaping for him. Nothing on earth could compare to that total submission. His senses filled him up, his eyes went back into the killing red as his own pulse quickened. Giving in was the sweetest form of suffering, and Killian kissed Colton endlessly, alternately gentle and rough, his tongue halfway down Colton’s throat and his teeth sharp. Short of breath, Colton pulled his head back. “Whoa! I guess it’s a deal?” “Three days. Don’t make me come and get you, either. I’m feeling very impatient.” “Come then, my wicked one. Before the new Council gets here.” Startled, Killian stepped back. “New one?” “It had been…discussed, you know.” “Plotted, you mean. A shadow Council?” “Something like that.” “And this retarded Prince of yours?” “No, that will never happen. His father will sit that chair in his place.” “Oh great.” “Yeah, it is. Had to learn his tolerance somewhere, hmm? Be at peace, Killian, it’s working out good for all of us. I feel the scales evening out, finding the balance.” “Bullshit.” “You can see for yourself.” “Huh?” “Three months—in three months you’ll be speaking before them, reaffirming all past agreements on behalf of your kind.” Such an unprecedented event he dared not believe. Not possible. “Here?” “Yes.” “No way! Me?” He was answered by that ridiculous smile again. “I’ll tell you more later…but right now? Come, my handsome one. It’s time to go.” The place was filling up. Killian sensed each new arrival, and the power level of the place was increasing to a point it was becoming painful to bear. Whoever this new Council was made from, they had the strength to kick ass. All he could do was wait and see how it all played out. His part was done. Trust in Bella Luna, he reminded himself, trust her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The bad weather was a good omen, as far as Killian was concerned. The thunderstorm raging around them was violent and loud and full of lightning. Oblivious, Colton remained asleep, curled into a protective ball, hair wild about his pillow. It had been an impossibly long drive to the rental, and Killian had sent him immediately to bed with a promise to watch over him while he slept. The house was perched on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea and surrounded by the biggest fucking trees Killian had ever seen. They towered like giants and at present were raining needles and cones and sticks. The entire wall of their bedroom was one big window facing the ocean, and he kept the blinds retracted, letting the view snatch his breath away. Proud of himself, he grinned stupidly. He really had outdone himself. The place was perfect. True, it was in the middle of nowhere in coastal British Columbia, Canada, but the forest was old growth and the nearest town with the native Indian name was miles away. No prying eyes anywhere, and, as he expected shortly, no electricity, either. The trees were groaning and creaking in the wind. The sea boiled and churned, water black as his eyes. The lights flickered twice and went out completely. Right on schedule. With nothing to do now that they had no power, Killian seized on the perfect excuse to avoid putting their stuff away, stripped and crawled under the blankets with Colton. Even asleep, the shifter turned toward him, unfurling his long legs and pressing against him, hair tickling his chest and neck, his reward for a job well done. They’d survived! Both of them. Fucking incredible. Keeping his word, Colton arrived home in three days, so exhausted Killian had to pack for him, organize everything and practically carry him to the new SUV he’d bought for the journey, sight unseen, untested. Not that he minded—Killian was one of those people who performed best in a crisis. His laptop and work came with him. Three months was a long time for him to be stuck in the middle of nowhere. When Colton was well again, he’d have something to amuse him, and he was counting every moment until then. As ordered, Colton had obtained another set of red robes and the outfit sat neatly packed downstairs by the door, tucked away for future destruction. Killian couldn’t wait. Thinking about that form-fitting outfit covering that perfect body made him stiff as he lay against Colton’s warmth. Rubbing against him, Killian pleasured himself, not to orgasm, but it was nice, regardless. It would be a while before he’d be able to abuse that delightful body snug against his—abstinence sucked. Planning ahead, he’d brought a whip. Just a short flogger, not the nasty longer one he’d used on him before and, fortunately Canada Customs had not searched their luggage beyond a cursory glimpse. Rather tough explaining that. Temptation would always be a problem between them. Used to intense pain, shifter boy would never stop him before Killian crossed over the line into the realm of true sadism, so he had to be most careful. Couldn’t get into much trouble with that small tangle of leather, though! Besides, Colton had no black threads to give him; whatever guilt and sorrow he felt over what he’d done would have to stay with him. He needed that guilt to be a better man. Some burdens were meant to be kept close to the heart. “Killian?” Blondie whispered a moment later. “I’m here. Shhh, now, and go back to sleep.” “What were you thinking about? It woke me.” Smiling, Killian kissed the top of his head. “You don’t want to know. Trust me. Now sleep.” “I hear the storm.” “Made just to order. Do you like it?” “It’s wonderful.” “It knocked out the power, so I’m just gonna stay here with you.” A soft sigh warmed his shoulder. “I’d like that.” A big, warm hand caressed up his bare leg, fingers skimming his buttock until the hand stopped at his waist. “Make love to me?” he asked shyly. The hand inserted itself between their tightly pressed bodies. “No, pretty one. Not today.” It was hard extricating that questing hand and imprisoning it within his. “Sleep.” “Please, Killian? I want you.” “I’ve made it a policy to never have sex with dead people.” Blondie laughed softly. Evil shifter. “Killian, I need you. Please?” Arousal flared, his body reacting violently to that sweet plea. “Shut up, Colton.” “Kiss me and I will.” Sleep-hot lips were already on him, kissing his throat, taking all of his resolve. Before he knew what he was doing, his body was crushing Colton’s, his hands twined in both of his, pressing them into the mattress. His eager mouth sought lush lips. “Damn you, Blondie!” he cursed. “Please…” Colton begged in one long sigh of need. Of its own volition, his knee shoved Colton’s thigh up. His very hard and eager cock was already pressing deep between his legs, a heat-seeking missile acquiring its programmed target. God, how he wanted! “Colton, no!” “Make me yours,” he begged. “Please.” Killian wouldn’t. Taking Colton dryly and roughly was not something he was gonna do, even if his need was palpable, reaching out to him. Colton’s secret desires inflamed him like nothing else. His penis complained of need when he pulled it out of that hot crack and still more when he wrapped Blondie’s fingers around the thick wooden bars that made up the locally crafted headboard. “Keep them there,” he warned as he slid lower, licking a path south. Before he even reached the hard length of Colton’s erection, the long back was arching in need, in desperate want. On the inside of one hip bone, Killian left a kiss. A spark! The pulse hidden there raced under his lips. Taking the swollen head into his mouth, Killian sucked hard, pulling it in deep. The clenched hands sprang open and wrists smacked against the thick wood poles that had once been tree branches. Colton shuddered. Sucking up the shaft wetly and drawing his mouth tightly together, Killian pulled off the fat head. “Put them back right now,” he ordered.

“Killian!” he gasped, struggling to obey. Wriggling and twisting, Colton whimpered and panted the entire time Killian sucked and licked, driving him toward a new kind of mental instability. Impatient and painfully aroused, Killian was ruthless, sliding his head up and down fast, licking as he sucked, his hand squeezing full balls, turning the whimpers into cries. His own lust beat in his temples. Each of Blondie’s cries was a pulse he felt in his own cock, and that beat was racing at breakneck speed. He wet his fingers in his mouth and shoved them deep underneath, finding the tight, closed opening. Breaking his resolve, Killian entered him with a finger, sending it deep, feeling the flesh squeeze tight around it. The writhing body jerked. A quivering breath relaxed the tightness enough he fit a second finger in with the first. Too tightly and with no lubrication it was cruel and nasty, the stroking rough. The cruelness didn’t last and Colton climaxed immediately into his mouth, the thrusting fingers driving him there without mercy. Muscles clenched painfully around his fingers as he pulled them out. “Damn you, Colton!” Killian was panting, angry and horny. “Damn you.” As his temper flared, he was mad at himself for giving in. His eyes sparked red. Shaking, Colton let go of the headboard and crawled painfully down the bed, finding Killian’s stiff flesh with blindly questing fingers. “No!” Killian cried. “Come into my mouth,” he pleaded, voice as shaky as his hands. “Take your pleasure in my mouth, Killian. Please.” With angry hands, he grabbed at the blond head, snaring two big handfuls of messy strands, and shoved his throbbing cock into the waiting mouth. It was so fucking hot and wet, he cried out and pushed deeper. So wonderful! No one gave head as good as Blondie. Killian succumbed to his charms, but did all the work by pumping his hips back and forth and letting that tight, sucking mouth grant him the ultimate physical joy. Wound tight and incredibly aroused, Killian climaxed quickly all over the flushed face, a shower of hot stickiness. When the last spasm settled to calm in his bones, he pressed Colton’s face against his taut belly, smearing his ejaculate onto his own skin. Satisfied, but ticked at himself for his lapse in control, he untangled his fingers and let Colton collapse onto the bed. “I hope that hurt,” he growled. “Yes,” the shaky voice answered. “But I like pain.” “I’m not touching you again until you’re better.” The snort of disbelief was audible, and so was the groan that followed. “I mean it, Blondie. You can just keep your hot mouth to yourself for a few days. You look and sound even worse than when I found you at the mall.” “Shhh, Killian, come here. Don’t be angry.” Sweet begging was just as irresistible as sexual begging. Settling himself on his back, Killian pulled Colton’s languid body onto his own and rested his golden head on his chest. Relaxing, he played with the long hair, hoping Colton would never cut it short and, brushing it up off his nape, he caressed that downy soft spot with his finger, stirring up echoes of pleasure. Christ, but he was insatiable. Stupid shifter! Always doing this to him. Drowsy, Colton lazily caressed him back, his gentle fingers branding him everywhere they touched. “Talk to me, pretty one,” Killian whispered. “’Bout what?” “Anything. Everything! I want to know everything about you.” “Ah, so that’s why you gave in. And I thought it was my heartfelt begging.” “It was…but since I gave you an orgasm, which I shouldn’t have, I’ll take the opportunity. Frosts like to seize any opportunity and turn it to their advantage.” “Evil werewolf,” he breathed. “Shameless flatterer. Now talk. Tell me a story. Were you a stubborn little bastard as a child? You couldn’t have been that bad. Your mother still loves you enough that she let me into your shifter fortress to find you.” The sigh against his stomach tickled. “That was before I rained mass destruction down on our entire world, terminated everything in sight with extreme prejudice and fell in love with a big, hairy Alpha werewolf she says has nasty red eyes, a sick sense of humor and grabbed her ass.” A red hot arrow slammed into his heart and pinned him to the bed. Fell in love with? “She might forgive the murderous rampage and dragon temper tantrum, but I’m not so sure she’ll forgive me you.” Smoothing the soft hair back down, Killian closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt guilt. Truly, it sucked. “I’ve never been sorry before that I was born a werewolf.” Colton kissed his belly. “Don’t be. You’re wonderful. Besides, I don’t think that’s it.” “What do you mean?” “You’re a man. As a werewolf, she respects you. She says you’re the biggest one anyone has ever seen—everyone’s watched the security video. And that you’re very handsome. It’s my bisexuality she can’t comprehend. It’s very rare amongst shifters.” “I told you to lie about me.” “No. Not ever. I won’t. I want to show you off, not hide my true feelings from everybody.” Killian felt exactly the same way. The world surely was an unjust place. Not giving much conversation for the provided orgasm, Colton fell asleep again on Killian’s chest mid-word, and Killian lay quietly and listened to the storm, trying his hardest not to think about anything. It was a difficult task. Lasted roughly ten minutes, pretty decent for him. Colton’s slip of the tongue kept rolling around in his head, wanting to be examined. Fell in love with a b ig, hairy Alpha werewolf…

Chapter Twenty-Six

Over the next few days, Killian had lots of time to consider that statement. Sleeping most of the time, Colton abandoned him and healed in his own fashion. The forced isolation didn’t bother him one bit, and he was surprised he wasn’t bored. Everything suddenly seemed fascinating to him: the thick and ancient forest, moss-covered and wet, the smell of the ocean, seeing Colton’s blond head near his, or against him, every night. Four days was all it took for Blondie to recharge his batteries to full. Whatever the Prince had done to him in that extended shift must have worked and he was back to his eager, happy self quickly, the self Killian had only glimpsed that one night at the cottage in England. Was this Colton’s true persona? If so, he’d won the biggest fucking lottery of all time! They went for dinner at a roadside pub the following Friday night just to escape Killian’s pitiful cooking. They were both starving. The pub had big steaks, salty french fries and the strangest collection of humans Killian had ever seen. Mostly poor and of mixed white and native heritage, they were nonetheless the most gregarious bunch assembled under one roof. Any one of them, including the women, especially the women, could drink him under the table and/or steal all his money at the pool tables. Everyone stared at both of them, and quite openly too. Their native blood seemed to tell them there was something unusual about him and Colton, but they couldn’t quite grasp it. They were dangerous folk, still very intuitive. Nonetheless, Colton made everyone in the place fall in love with him, men and women alike. Killian too had his share of admirers, but they simply couldn’t get over Colton’s stunning face, his laughing smile. All charm and flirt, Colton sucked him under his spell just as easily and, since he’d been a good boy and kept his hands all to himself since that one instance on their arrival, Killian flirted back, sometimes making Colton forget what he was saying even as it came out of his mouth. All that was left for Killian to decide was, if, tonight, he would be nice and gentle or…take his payment for past services, a bill long overdue. That horrid red ensemble had called to him more than once. What was it with that outfit, anyway? Driving back in the dark with the forest closing in on them, Killian decided he’d broach the subject. “You seem to be feeling better. Much improved.” Colton knew him well already and eyed him suspiciously. “Yes…I’m fine now.” “My opinion of fine? Or yours?” “Both.” “Good.” “Why?” “I punished seven shifters, one werewolf and one human for you.” The word punished instantly struck a chord with Colton, and he made a squeaky, noncommittal sound. “And I never got any payment.” “Not even the satisfaction of a job well done?” he asked, hopeful, his voice high-pitched. Dark laughter was his answer. “I gave up the human’s soul for you.” Ignoring the shocked gasp, Killian continued. “You cannot imagine how difficult that was. I didn’t want it. Truly, I’d not even considered such a possibility when I went there to help, but it simply drove me crazy. It was so distracting I couldn’t even fight. There was this…music in my head. Only I could hear it, no one else. And I could see it, that spark of eternal life. I actually saw it. Enthralling! It called to me like you wouldn’t believe.” He cast a quick glance over and found Colton listening most intently. “But I wanted you more than the promise of that soul, so I gave it up.” Blondie let the statement sink in. “Thank you,” he finally said. “So…” he said, the glow of his hunting eyes coming on, his voice lowering. “I figure you owe me big time, my pretty little shifter.” “Oh?” “What are you going to pay me?” “Uh…I dunno.” A lie from those sweet lips. “I think you do.” A streak of hot lightning seemed to travel up Colton’s spine. Was he thinking about what to offer? “You want payment…tonight?” “Yes.” Pulling into the rental’s parking lot spared Colton from answering. No matter, Killian knew what the answer would be. Now that he’d planted the idea in Blondie’s lovely head, it would

blossom there, spreading out and opening up into a big red flower full of thorns. It didn’t take long, either, just the few steps from vehicle to door and the unlocking of the door. The gears were turning in there. Killian could just about see the cogs move. “Would this…payment be for all debts?” Ah. Learning to negotiate already? Clever b oy. “Certainly not. Just for the soul, my sweet thing, just the soul.” “That’s not very fair.” “Fucking right it is. You have no idea how much willpower that took. It was so beautiful! It hurt me, Colton. Of course that could have been all the bites, the bullet hole, the broken bones or the corrupt shifter taking a chunk out of my haunch, but who knows?” He thought about it further. “Besides, I’m still mad about you about your choice of formal robes. Very mad.” “Yes, Killian,” he agreed with a sigh. “I’ll be on the deck. Waiting.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The deck had become Killian’s favorite place. The view was simply spectacular, almost having the power to deliver vertigo. Sitting in the low Adirondack chair was awkward with his erection so hard and unbendable he couldn’t get comfortable. The palm of his hand itched, the ribbon tugging like a physical thing, and his fingers yearned for the cold smoothness of leather. Was Colton scared? He was sure taking his time. Or was it defiance? Propping his big feet up on the wooden crate that served as a footstool, Killian waited impatiently and with a touch of worry. Was he being hasty? While he may want to hurt Colton, he sure as hell didn’t want to harm him. Too soon? His instincts told him no, and he was never wrong. A rustle of fabric came from behind him, a swirling of yards of red. A spasm of excitement struck him so hard it was like a blow to the chest from a really big fist. The robed figure paused at the arm of his chair for a moment, hood up, and then lowered gracefully to its knees in a pool of moonlit, bloody red. The head was bowed down in submission. Hurts! The tightness in Killian’s chest hurt. How the hell did he do this to him? Being a bastard, Killian ignored him. It was always better when he let them stew in their helpless submission for a while, made them more thankful for whatever mercy he cared to show later. The head never moved and the body never twitched. Kneeling for long periods was supremely uncomfortable when you weren’t used to it. Clouds raced overhead, black against the moon. Red eyes saw his watch perfectly well. Fifteen minutes was adequate preliminary punishment. “Pretty one.” “Yes, Killian?” “Go to our bedroom now. There’s an item in my small suitcase. Get it and put it on the bed. I’ll be along shortly.” “Yes, Killian.” Colton did not know what was in his suitcase since he’d not seen it. How aroused would touching it make him? How eager? When he’d taken him up to his attic, Colton had fought back, resisting the shackles and hoarding his trove of black guilt. This was different. Colton would not be chained this time. Killian would make him take it freely, back and butt exposed to receive his dark favor—true submission. This kind of violent play could not push him over the edge. It was safe. Colton had no black threads to pull out, only his secret desires to free up and satisfy. Killian was up to the challenge. The window blinds were wide open to the moonlight, leaving the room bathed in semi-darkness and touched with a certain creepiness Killian found appealing. The owners had a weird candle fetish—they were everywhere. Lighting a single one, he set it on the dresser and was satisfied with the amount of golden shimmer it provided. His red eyes could see everything otherwise shaded, which suited. He really loved to watch. The delightful bundle of black leather strands was on the bed as ordered. His arrival in the room quickened Colton’s breathing. Killian’s senses felt it, a call to his dark blood. On his knees, Colton waited on the floor beside the whip. The air vibrated with something Killian couldn’t identify—anticipation? Perhaps, but it was a heavy anticipation, like waiting for the hurricane to come ashore or the expected prick of a big needle coming your way. It called to both of them. Interspersed between the softer leather strips on the flogger were several braided strands, not any bigger, but heavier and slightly longer. They’d be the ones to deliver the sting, and Killian meant for them to sting sharply. This thing between them was a gift, one he’d delight in, but would never take for granted. Bella Luna had given him a soul mate and he wouldn’t fuck it up. His heart had been made for this, and Colton’s heart had been made for him. Taking his time, Killian wandered the room, marveling over his gift, letting their anticipation build to a slow simmer, finally pausing behind the huddled form on the floor. Killian just stood there. It was meant to be unnerving, a tightening of the ribbon. Quick, and without warning, Killian tugged down the hood. Some people liked to be hooded, needed to be deprived of that one sense and feeding off the fear of its loss. Killian hated the notion; he needed to see into Colton’s eyes. Truth lived there. Remembering his preparation at the cottage, Colton had brushed his hair and tied it back with a length of dental floss, being the only thing to hand, and Killian appreciated the effort. It would be yanked out soon…oh yes! Lowering the hood uncovered the long neck, and he caressed from jaw to nape in one lingering swipe, searching for the pulse that lived there. As he knew it would, it leapt for him. The clasp for the robe was simple, and Killian undid it blindly, sliding the garment off by pulling Colton’s arms backward. Silk whispered. Claiming it, he turned it inside out and laid it over the log that made up the top of the footboard, creating a smooth surface. The toes of his heavy hiking boots nudged Blondie’s butt as he loomed over his prey. “Get up!” he snapped. Rising with his usual grace, he did. There was no tripping over the long robes, and clearly his pretty one was used to this type of clothing. Why? It would come up later…he’d make sure of it. Payment would begin now—Killian grabbed the neat tail of hair and dragged the attached head and body to the foot of the bed, getting his first whimper of the night. Sweet! “Brace yourself with your hands,” he ordered. Big hands clamped tight over silk and onto thick wood. Flowing white sleeves flaunted their red embroidery by catching the light from the window, the candle. The side-slit dress flowed around Colton’s legs, and a remnant of Killian’s anger picked up where it had left off at the cottage, totally irrational. Colton had meant to die then, whereas right now he was putting himself back together thread by thread. Symbolic, that was, the whole thread thing, whether they be black, red or made of guilt and shame or knotted with seeping black. Now Colton was making a life from the bits, a thread of purest white. It was fitting Killian should rip the old life apart. First though, a thorough mauling was in order. It was a needful thing. Fondling at will, Killian’s hands went everywhere. Fingers traced the intricate fabric work on the front and tested smoothness of embroidered thorns before roving lower and touching what was his. Under the skirt Colton was hard, his erection straining against the confining garments. Cruelly teasing, Killian stroked him several times, hand tightly encircling the hungry flesh, but not freeing it from its imprisonment. Later! Raising the back hem, he rubbed his own swollen flesh, thick jean seam and cold zipper in the crack of Colton’s ass. It was very tempting just to pull down those pants and fuck him on the spot. Ah damn. Restraint sucked. It was a shame, a damn, bloody shame to have to ruin that stunning work of sewn art. But it was needful. And solidly built, ripping it with human hands would be difficult. Ripping was a werewolf’s job, and he had the right toolkit. Sucking up the power of the moon out the window, Killian transformed enough to bring out the claws. Colton inhaled a mouthful of air in one big gulp, fearful, his shifter blood riled up, but his hands never left the footboard. “I’ll take all your red threads now, my pretty,” he growled, his day voice surrendering to his night one. Shuddering visibly, Colton tightened his grip and accepted the werewolf’s price for giving up a human soul. The back seam of the bodice went pop, pop as his sharp black claw plucked the stitches apart at the top and then ripped obscenely loud as Killian rent the material all the way down the back with his hands. The sound was so delightful Killian closed his eyes for a second to enjoy it better. Tiny motes of fabric dust drifted in the air, shimmering faintly for his opening crimson eyes. Reaching around to the front, he hooked into the delicate pattern and eagerly slashed and tore, leaving little bits of red to flutter on the bed. Giving himself free rein, Killian tore the dress apart, savaged it, a frenzy of destruction scattering material in every direction. As it rained down red threads, Colton held back his whimpers. It was a masterful effort, and Killian was impressed. His sharp claws were like knives, and he expertly ripped a long strip from the hem complete with thorn embroidery, a perfect red ribbon for his pretty one. Retracting his claws, he tied the ribbon snugly around Blondie’s neck, sealing his own fate as well. Warmed up to his task now, Killian gave himself over to his wild side and, with his bare hands, ripped the shirt apart in the front, baring Colton’s chest and the skin covering his thudding heart. Grabbing the fine white shirt at the shoulder in a big handful, Killian yanked so hard he pulled Colton right off the footboard and sent him flying to the floor, still clasping the silk-lined robe. Full of temper and violence, Killian threw himself there too, finishing the job on the floor, Blondie underneath him and defending his face with a wiry forearm. That pissed him off more. As if he’d strike Colton’s face. Never! Scraps of white fell like snow as he finished venting his frustration on the material instead. Pulling on one bare foot, he dragged Colton back to the bed and pulled him up by the hair, losing the floss. “I would never hit you in the face. Never!” “I’m sorry, Killian!” he cried as Killian wrenched his head back. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” he replied, letting the head go. “Pull down those slutty red pants for me, pretty boy.” Shaky hands struggled to comply, the thin ties tangled in a knot. Impatient, Killian gritted his teeth. The slim trousers were slid over narrow hips and pushed down, revealing that nice white ass and its sprinkling of pale gold hair. It was a sight erotic beyond belief. “Stop!” he said when they reached his knees. “Leave them there.” They wouldn’t stay there long, but for the moment the sight was wickedly dirty and his cock throbbed in agreement with his eyes. “Put your hands back up,” he ordered. This time the hands found wood, easier to grip. The flogger called to Killian and he reached for it, giving it a twirl in his hand like a baton, settling it in his palm and giving it a snap. Escaping whimpers inflamed his arousal, painfully crushed in tight pants. He was rushing and couldn’t help it. Teasing the skin with the chilly leather was half the fun, the building of anticipation part of the game, but he found himself raising it to strike. Why wait? Killian let it go. Selfish, he struck hard. The surprise of the unexpected attack made Colton gasp, not the pain of leather against buttock. Three more ruthlessly hard smacks followed before Killian realized he was not being fair, not at all. His domineering heart felt a sharp flick of its own—shame. Stupid shifter. No. Stupid werewolf. No sense in blaming Blondie for his lack of control. He owned it. This was supposed to be violent play, not violence. Rushing, he’d not seduced Colton with the whip, had only given the bite of it. Further remorseful, he realized he’d not even kissed him. What an asshole! Repenting, Killian tucked the handle into his back pocket and took a deep, calming breath. That outfit had been a cape waved in front of a raging bull and, being the animal he was, all he’d noticed was the taunting flash of red and gone for it head first, horns down. Waiting, Colton was silent, and had been silent, enduring his short burst of disrespect. Penance would be Killian’s punishment. Or not. That beautiful body was all his to do with as he

wished, pants down, ass flushed and stinging—giving Colton some pleasure couldn’t really be considered penance, could it? Alarm prickled the hairs on Blondie’s back as Killian moved up behind him and breathed hot on his neck, not doing anything, just standing there inhaling that sweet, elusive scent. When Killian kissed him on the top of the shoulder, Colton startled as badly as if he’d struck him again. Killian had been a bad boy and would now make up for it. With his hands newly gentled, Killian reached around and caressed chest and abdomen, returning to rub hard nipples with the tips of his fingers. Wishing for tiny rings to tug on, Killian pinched them, instead, giving a taste of thorns. Responsive as ever, Colton gave himself over to pleasure, delighting in the kisses rained across his back and the expert hands claiming his body everywhere else. Killian fondled ass and cock with equal appreciation and, unfortunately, lost the dirty red pants to the floor. A kiss was next on his agenda. “Pay me with your mouth, Colton. Give it to me.” Shifter man turned and felt for the buckle of Killian’s belt, sliding the end out of the loop and releasing the prong in one deft tug. For a second, Killian was utterly surprised, but then he had to laugh. “I wanted a kiss.” A flick of hazel revealed his surprise also. “Huh?” “I want your tongue in my mouth. I want my tongue down your throat. Give me those sweet red lips. Now!” Unconsciously seducing him, Colton slowly leaned forward and set his delicious mouth on his, creating hot and steamy contact of the best kind. A burning flame of thrill and adoration raced up Killian’s chest, his throat and into his mouth, and he kissed back with utter abandon, endlessly and filled with all the lust his body had ever called its own. The whip stayed in his pocket, momentarily forgotten. Taking, because he was such a taker, he pulled Colton’s body tight against his own and locked his hands around that enticing junction between thigh and buttock. Their erections rubbed against each other, separated only by a rough patch of material and metal teeth. Having done a good job making up for his lapse, Killian remembered the wicked thing in his pocket. With his mouth still on Blondie’s, he pulled it out and wrapped it around the small of his back, a hook of dark promise. “How many whacks do you think a soul is worth, Blondie?” he asked. Slightly breathless, Colton answered with halting speech. “I…don’t…know. A soul is…priceless, Killian.” “You’re such a do-gooder.” Truly, despite everything that had happened between them and all the killing Colton had done, he still radiated that sweet innocence. His heart was pure. “If you don’t know, then I’ll just enjoy myself until…until I want to fuck you so badly I have to stop.” The whimper was small and held mostly in Colton’s throat. “Come to the bed now and expose yourself for me.” Blondie complied, but didn’t know what he wanted, so Killian helped, settling him across the bed, knees on the mattress, but his lower legs off the edge. Admiring the sight, Killian spread the legs so he could fit between them and, when he was ready, have access to what he wanted simply by pulling Colton up onto his knees. Killian believed in planning ahead. Part of that planning prompted him to lube Colton up in advance as well; he knew he’d be eager. “Clasp your hands behind your head.” The position flexed powerful shoulders most appealingly. The body quivered. “What do you want?” Stubborn, Colton wouldn’t confess. “You can tell me,” he urged softly, “tell me all your secrets. You can trust me with them, you know that.” Stroking the leather down the exposed back, Killian waited for an answer. “Did you like it last time?” he asked. “After you gave me all your black? When I played with you and aroused you? You liked it, didn’t you?” Smiling, Killian dragged the leather over the bare buttocks and stroked the inside of one thigh. “Tell me everything, pretty one, I’ll take everything. Then I’ll give you what you need.” Taking his time, Killian caressed and stroked, alternating between fingers and leather, keeping it up until further quivering of the lean body told him Colton was almost ready to speak of his secret desires. “Did you like it when I whipped you?” Defiant, Colton held his breath for a moment and then, finally, gave it up. “Yes,” he confirmed, mostly into the covers. “I’ll give you a taste now. To help you remember you liked it.” Starting slow, as he should have done originally, Killian flicked the whip, sending it down across the shoulders, not too hard, just a taste as promised. Another flick found the flesh on the other side. The flogger covered a wide area so there’d be no intricate pattern for him to work on, no test of his skill. Still showing restraint, Killian covered the exposed back with flying leather bites and went down the buttocks and upper thighs. Colton whimpered, not from the pain, which was minor, but from excitement, and Killian kept on with the reminder, finally pausing to slide his fingers between spread legs and firmly stroking up the cleft. “More?” A tiny spasm of thrill preceded the answer. “Please, Killian,” he whispered. “I like…the sting of…the black leather wasp.” Black leather wasp? Colton could be so poetic. Killian stung him some more. Every few strikes he delivered a harder hit, a venomous sting. Colton began to pant. He was panting. It was very, very good. Fingers stroked in the cleft again and at the same moment Killian flicked the leather on him again, he entered him with a finger, earning him a sucked-in breath. Finding a rhythm was easy after that, the circuit flowed round and round like electricity, four stings from the wasp, followed by caressing and that followed by thrusting penetration with his finger. The rhythm was sweet and bitter mixed together, and little by little Killian increased the speed, turned the sting into nips and one finger into two. Pleasure thrummed through his body and his tight pants crushed swollen flesh painfully. His whip hand was hot and sweaty and his left hand was sticky, fingers shoved deep and thrusting in time with his torture of naked skin. Blondie would beg soon. Oh yes! Killian couldn’t wait. Colton’s whimpers were interspersed with moans and cries while his arms strained to unclasp from the back of his neck. “Killian!” he finally cried out as Killian landed a hard smack on Colton’s ass that stung and welted his own hand as well. “You want something, Colton?” he said, trying and probably failing to keep his voice neutral. “You want it harder and faster?” “Yes! Please, Killian. I want…I want…please!” Well! He had begged. And Killian let some of his cruel blood have its way, let the dark flame burn brighter. The leather began to leave dark, raised welts in its wake. His fingers stretched the tight opening wider and watching them go in and out fed all his lust. His eyes flared crimson, fire igniting his werewolf blood. Thrilling to the sight, he shoved them deeper and thrust faster and faster. “Killian! Please. Oh God! Please!” “You want me to fuck you, pretty one?” “Yes! Please, yes.” Resistance was futile. When Killian unzipped his pants, his cock sprang out with rabid eagerness, rigid and throbbing. His hand didn’t want to give up the flogger, but it was really, really hard to fuck and whip at the same time. So hard…I’m hard! “Unclasp your hands now, Colton, and get up on your hands and knees.” Helping, Killian aligned the knees right at the edge of the bed and pushed between them, aiming the fat, blood-engorged head of his penis right where he wanted to shove it. Knowing he was going to take Colton on a wild ride, he lubed himself generously and proceeded to give his pretty one what he begged for. His fingers had prepared Colton for his entry and he gave it fast, thrusting in halfway in one stroke. Colton cried out. Killian was still big and the opening small and, once again, untried. Letting Colton get used to him all over again, Killian slowed his entry, taking up the slow rocking, easing himself the rest of the way in, the flogger still in his hand and draped across Colton’s arched back. “You like the sting of the big wasp, shifter boy?” A groaning, “Yes,” replied to his question. “I’m gonna sting you harder and faster. Over and over and over again!” “Oh…Jesus!” Hands on Blondie’s hips, Killian buried himself, grinding his groin into welted, burning flesh, getting paid in full for one human soul. The payment was just. Taking it fully, he stung harder and faster as promised, filling himself up with the most potent of all drugs—complete dominance over his shifter lover. Killian was rough. His loose belt buckle was snapping against Colton’s pale thigh with each stroke. Colton was whimpering and crying out, barely able to hold himself up on hands or knees. Mean as often accused, Killian pounded into him, giving him every inch of his long shaft. “So good,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking tight!” Fingering the welts pleased Killian and he scratched at them with the edge of his nails, reigniting the pain and taking Colton to the very border of his boundaries. “I’m gonna come soon, my lovely. Should I let you come with me?” “Yes, Killian! Please let me.” Bella Luna! Blondie could beg like no one else. It was all in the tone of his voice. Always fair and never taking pleasure without giving it, Killian clasped his big hand around Colton’s hardened shaft instantly and squeezed, jerking it fast. Rapidly firing nerves squeezed the tight cavity around his thrusting cock. So impossib ly tight! Closing his eyes, Killian let his head fall back and his hair fall down his shoulders, surrendering all his senses to one only—pure and simple feeling. “Killian!” Colton cried in the instant before climaxing. “Yes, Colton?” he panted, his balls tightening. “I love you!” Ah…no cheating. That was cheating. The thought disappeared into oblivion as his own climax tore into him even more powerfully than the very first time he’d taken him, Colton’s abrupt and freely given declaration spurring him to new heights of pleasure. Killian rode the waves to the very end, to the point when Colton could no longer hold himself up and he collapsed, taking Killian’s heavy weight with him onto the welcoming shore. Realizing he was sprawled awkwardly and vaguely uncomfortable, Killian came to his senses and grudgingly reclaimed his sated body part, avoiding the complaining. Colton was still gasping for breath, and it was from exertion and fried nerves, not just his heavy weight. Killian’s legs were hanging over the bed, heavy boots succumbing to gravity. Scraps of red fabric were everywhere, brilliant as blood splotches and light as feathers as Killian dragged his numb body onto the bed. Giving in to need, he hooked one leg over both of Blondie’s—not far, his pants were down around his thighs. Overwhelmed and strung out, his victim didn’t even try escaping. “You were very good. I think you deserve kisses.” The moan went into the comforter, scattering red threads. If Killian wanted kisses, he’d have to be the one to make the effort. Colton was mostly dead. When Killian slid his face over and reached the mouth, the lips were very hot and very red. Totally drained, he could only manage one, but he made it a good one, tongue included. “Delicious,” he murmured. “So depraved,” Colton muttered. “Thank you.” “Get off me.” “Mine!” “Stings.” “Boohoo.” Mind you, his boot was heavy. And dirty too, gravel in the treads. Leaving Colton to suffer from his abuse, he undressed, thankful to be free of his confining clothes. It took quite some time for his body to settle down. Every time he opened his eyes and they landed on Colton’s body and the marks he’d put on it, he’d get a violent aftershock. “Come wash with me, pretty one. I want to talk to you.” “Go away,” he moaned. “I’m not talking to you.” “No? Oh look! Is that my whip? Right there?” It was under one of his hips. “It’ll be all nice and warm now, all that body heat. Defiant shifters get beat more.” Red scraps were stuck to Colton’s sticky body like feathers and claw marks etched his chest. Colton looked utterly sweet while tossing the whip under the bed, limbs all shaky and uncoordinated. Wary, Colton ignored him while they washed and returned to the messy bed and, wary still, he spent considerable time on his own side of the bed trying to find a comfortable

position that didn’t hurt. “Shy all of a sudden, Colton?” “No.” “Then what’s on your mind? Spit it out, shifter. Haven’t got all night.” Turning his head, Colton gave him a dirty look. “Okay, I do. But you know I’m impatient.” “What do you want to talk to me about?” “Well, first of all…come here. My arms are empty. You can lie right here on my chest, get comfy. I won’t touch you. Promise.” The sweet blond head settled on his chest, but not before Colton took a very long time getting there, sore and stinging from his mistreatment. Playing with Colton’s hair couldn’t be construed as touching, could it? “What’s got you all upset?” “You want to say things to me I don’t want to hear.” “How do you figure that?” “You’re mad at me.” “What?” Stunned, Killian tugged at the red knot of thorns between his fingers. “I’m not mad at you. Quite the opposite, actually, I’m blissfully happy. You paid me well, definitely worth giving up a soul for. Tell me where this is coming from.” “I said it.” Ah. That. “I’m surprised you remember saying it.” “You don’t have to say anything back, Killian. I can’t help what I feel. Please don’t be mad at me.” Really, Killian had no idea how Colton’s mind worked. Too much dragon shifting obviously addled the brain. “Pretty one,” he said, stroking the hair in his hands, “I’m not mad at you, I’m… honored. That you think I’m worth it. And,” he gave the scarlet loop a slight tug, “it’s about damned time you said it. You’re so stubborn!” The blond head shot up off his chest. “I already told you I loved you. Seems only fair.” “But…I didn’t think you meant…well—” “I guess I’m not very good at this. I’ve never loved anybody before. I don’t know the way of it. But I told you I was in love with you and I always mean what I say. My dark side has been waiting for you, waiting for your light. Now I feel like a whole person. You fill me up, sometimes full to bursting, and I wonder how I can take anymore.” He laughed. “Good thing I’m greedy.” Breaking the no-touching promise, Killian had to put his arms around his prize when Colton wrapped his arms around him. The pain was just a tiny lick of red, after all. “It’s gonna be hard, us being together,” Colton said. “I do like a challenge. What is life without the hunt for what you want?” “A worthless one.” “Exactly. And us Frosts really hate worthless things. I demand more and I intend to get it.” Killian’s fingers picked at the tattered red collar, feeling it pull back against his hand. “We’ll just have to work for it, that’s all. I don’t care who doesn’t like it.” “I’m not going to hunt anymore.” Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. “Yes, you are.” “Huh?” “You are what you are. It’ll kill me when you’re gone, I’ll worry. But you will come back to me every time, and I don’t care if you cheat and take up the forbidden and have a blood-splattering dragon tantrum, just so long as you come back to me. And you will take better care of your shifter companions, my pretty one. No more dead ones, got that? I don’t like those black threads in you.” The answer was a swift, “Yes, Killian.” “But there’s a proviso.” Colton’s sigh was deep. “Of course there is.” “You’re taking a good long break before you do. A full year. An entire year with no shifting. And you will go before your new Council and tell them so, and do it with your spine straight and head up.” “A year!” “Colton, listen to me, and listen well. You could maybe pass for twenty, and only on days like tomorrow when you’re all sore and tired and I’ve been at you mercilessly. I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of pervert.” “But you are a pervert.” “And I only practice my perversions on adults who should know better. Time must pass for you. No more shifting!” It was necessary for Colton to let the information sink in. Stubborn and reveling in his defiance, he didn’t believe. He didn’t see it in the mirror; all he saw was his body as it always was, not realizing the always part was the problem. “Is it true?” he whispered. “Yes.” “No shifting?” “None. Only in emergencies—I do expect you to defend yourself. If you get to missing the pain, I’ll be happy to help you with that. Actually, I’ll give you some from time to time whether you miss it or not.” Against his chest, soft, shaky laughter vibrated. “Anything else?” Ah…b ut there is! “Yes. I want everything! Give me everything, my beloved, I’ll take everything.” “If I give you everything, can I have a kiss, my wicked werewolf?” Well, now. That required some contemplation. “Give me every night in my bed, pretty one, and I’ll give you kisses forever.” “Hmm…sounds like I’m getting the better side of this deal, Mr. Frost!” “Not fucking likely, Mr. Décarie.” They sealed their bargain with a kiss. The invisible length of red ribbon between them pulled tight, closing the distance until none remained.

About the Author

Finn Marlowe is a paralegal by day, erotic wordslinger by night and notorious sniper when on-line playing Battlefield. If you want to play, bring your “A” game. If you want to read Finn’s novels, you’d better like your stories red hot and on the dark side. Finn calls beautiful British Columbia home, but frequently punishes both passport and wallet traveling to Washington and Idaho. A Thread of Deepest Black is Finn’s debut novel. Find out more at www.finnmarlowe.com. When this deal b reaks, Heaven will fall.

Angel 1089 © 2010 C.C. Bridges Heaven Corp, Book 1 Catching two demon burglars is routine for Gabriel 1089, who’s one cog in an army of cybernetically modified humans protecting the sky city of Heaven. Until two turns into a twenty-demon ambush. When he wakes up, he’s missing his network-enabled halo—and one of his metal wings. The down-level junk dealer tending Gabe’s wounds has hands that spark nerve endings he never knew he possessed. But for an angel cut off from Heaven, an attic in Old Trent feels more like a trap than a sanctuary. Demons on his doorstep are nothing new for Jeff Werth. Ever since they saved his daughter’s legs, they’ve been calling in their marker. In exchange for his services—nursing Gabe back to health so they can use him as a pawn in their war with Heaven—they’ll consider the debt paid in full. Except having a powerless angel at his mercy feeds a rising desire that has him rethinking the deal. Then the de-haloed Gabe begins having dreams that become visions…then memories. Until he’s not sure whose side he’s on. Heaven, or the simple family man who healed his broken wings…and made his heart whole. Warning: The sexual awakening of an angel, some wing porn, ab use of heavenly clichés and a dog who steals the show. Enjoy the following excerpt for Angel 1089: In some ways he was almost childlike, naïve about everything. But Jeff knew Gabriel 1089 was dangerous, a soldier for Heaven Corp, with his wings literally clipped. His bare chest rippled with muscles, not an ounce of fat on his narrow frame as if he were meant to soar the skies like a bird of prey. Jeff wanted to run his hands along those chiseled muscles, feel if they were flesh

or made of stone. It had been too long since he’d indulged in touching another man like that, and Jeff hadn’t expected to find himself missing it. “I like to think the whole junkyard is my workshop,” Jeff said. “But this is where I work on special projects.” “Like me?” Gabriel finally turned his full gaze on Jeff, those pale eyes startling when focused so intently. Jeff coughed to cover his reaction, surprised at the thread of desire coiling in his gut. “I think I found you some oil.” He showed Gabriel the clear glass jar. Gabriel took a whiff of the oil, blinking in response. “Oh. It smells sweet.” “It’s not your typical junkyard oil,” Jeff agreed. “This should be fine for your cybernetics.” Gabriel frowned, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest. “You say that like they’re not me. My wings.” He closed his eyes at the slip. How much did it hurt to lose a limb? Jeff had a flash of Kayla in his arms, blood everywhere, body mangled. He swallowed, not having to imagine the agony at all. “I’m sorry.” “How do you want me?” Jeff shook his head at the sudden change of topic. “What?” “Well, I can’t reach myself.” Gabriel smiled. Normally Jeff might think that expression coy or flirtatious, but he wasn’t sure about Gabriel. He didn’t know if angels could even engage in such things. All Jeff knew was that they were minions of Heaven Corp, often without wills of their own. The demons had to make their deals around the angels, who could not be bribed like normal humans. But that didn’t answer the question. “Um, maybe if you lean over my chair,” Jeff offered, “so I can reach everywhere?” His face burned as he stepped into innuendo without meaning to. Yes, the angel was beautiful. They were made to be. But Jeff couldn’t even think about this sudden surprising attraction. Even if angels were able to bend that way, he could hardly start flirting with Gabriel, not when Jeff was keeping secrets to hold Gabriel here. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice Jeff’s discomfort. He moved into position, kneeling on the seat of Jeff’s comfy chair, crossing his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. His golden wing stretched out, unfurling to its full length. Jeff couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of such a fascinating piece of machinery, the interlocking feathers that looked almost more like the scales of a fish, and the way they folded, in and over. He picked up a clean shop rag and dabbed it in the jar of oil. “Should I start any place in particular?” “At the top, please.” He buffed at the metal, beginning where it met Gabriel’s pale skin, molded to his shoulder blade like he’d been born with them. It made the stub and wires sticking out of the other shoulder a monstrosity. Jeff had to do something about that. But right now he just concentrated on the way the dull metal began to gleam once oiled. “Oh.” Gabriel’s back arched. “Did I hurt you?” Jeff lifted the rag away. “N-no.” Gabriel seemed to need to catch his breath, panting slightly after he spoke. Jeff stroked his fingers down a set of feathers, delighting in how it caused Gabriel to shiver. He pulled back at the sound the angel made deep in his throat. Touching the angel like this wasn’t for his benefit, no matter how hard he got at Gabriel’s unintentional sensuality. “It just feels…intense,” Gabriel choked out. Jeff was glad Gabriel faced away from him, not sure he would have been able to hide his reaction to this intimate touch otherwise. “How…” He almost choked on the word. “How did it feel when the other angels did this?” “They didn’t. There is an oil spray system in our showers.” One of Gabriel’s hands lifted as if to mimic a motion. Jeff pictured a row of angels, all nude and looking remarkably like Gabriel, standing together as they were oiled down, wings gleaming. “Do you think it’s possible,” Gabriel started, voice thick, “to send a message past the demons?” The sweet smell of the oil turned rancid as Jeff lied. “No, the demons rule Old Trent. No one can afford to cross them.” Especially Jeff. Gabriel hunched over. His shoulders humped and his wing dragged, as if it were too heavy to lift. Jeff wished he could help the angel, send him home and out of their lives, keep Gabriel and Kayla safe from whatever Luca planned. Luca had toppled other powerful demons to gain his place, taking virtually all of Old Trent as his territory. He hadn’t been nice or polite about the takeover. Jeff had never seen a demon so ruthless, killing those who stood in his way and leaving the mangled bodies for all to see, both with their own eyes and in flickering holograms around the city. He added another dollop of oil, almost done, but not wanting to sever this connection with Gabriel. “What does your name mean?” he asked, wanting Gabriel to talk about himself, but not dwell on what he had lost. Gabriel let out a laugh. “I’m named Gabriel because I’m an archangel class, one thousand series. Eighty-nine because I was the eighty-ninth made in that line.” “How many are there?” “Too few now. They’ve moved on to the five thousand series and the seraph class.” Jeff wanted to know more, wanted to ask what made each series different, how people had been modified, changed into something other. But it would be wrong to satisfy his mechanical curiosity when all he could give Gabriel in return were lies. Just as wrong as his enjoyment of Gabriel beneath his fingertips. Jeff swallowed the guilt and wiped off his hands. “There,” he said. “I think I’ve got it all now.” Gabriel gave a roll of his shoulder and the wing responded, twisting and sliding into itself until the wing took up no more room than a shirt tucked up against the angel’s back. “That’s handy.” Jeff’s mind was already whirling with thoughts, comparing the design to the demonic wings, how one could be modified for the better. “Everything fits now.” Gabriel stood. “Thank you.” If only everything else could be fixed as easily. Love never hits a wrong note.

Seeking Kokopelli © 2010 Shelley Munro Ever since Nate McKenzie hired on as a roadie, musician Adam James has lusted after him. So far Adam has kept his distance, knowing Nate is mourning his dead wife. But lately Adam has caught the man returning his stares. Maybe it’s time to test the waters. Besides, there isn’t much chance Nate will find out that Adam was once his people’s Kokopelli. His powers were stripped from him, along with the magical tattoo on his chest, when his orientation was discovered. Nate is going crazy with guilt. Before his wife’s death, he never looked at anyone else, woman or man. Now his dreams are filled with Adam. He tries to keep his mind on his job and off Adam’s sexy body, but in a moment of weakness they share a kiss that sends them both up in flames. Their relationship risks both their hearts and Adam’s female fan base, but the attraction is too strong to ignore. Then someone takes a shot at Adam—and his tattoo begins to reappear, forcing him to come clean with his lover. And Nate to decide exactly where his future lies…before a killer steals it away from them. Warning: This b ook contains rockin’ music, smoky pub s, the mystical legend of Kokopelli and lots of playful, hot manlove. Enjoy the following excerpt for Seeking Kokopelli: Nate woke slowly, his erection cuddled up to a warm ass. Remaining still, he breathed deep, drawing the familiar scent into his lungs. It was the best way to wake in the morning. With a contented sigh, he pressed closer. “I never pegged you as a cuddler,” Adam drawled. Fully awake now, Nate jerked away with a heartfelt curse. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.” “Fuck, do you ever shut up?” Nate rolled off the bed and jumped to his feet, his heart pounding as if he’d run a hundred-meter sprint. “Why didn’t you wake me?” “You were tired. I didn’t see the point of waking you. You want to go for a run?” Nate scowled, his eyes narrowing while confusion pummeled him. “What are you trying to do to me?” “Don’t make too much of this,” Adam said. “A run. That’s all. We’ve run together before.” “I…yeah. Okay.” Nate dragged a hand through his hair and turned toward the door, the desire to touch Adam throbbing through him like an aching tooth. “I’ll grab my gear.” He would not touch. He would not. “Five minutes?” “Yeah.” Nate paused and strode back to Adam, his feet taking him even though his mind warned him of the big mistake he was about to make. He dragged Adam into his arms and kissed him. Hard. Their noses mashed together. Teeth clacked before they managed a fit for their lips. The kiss was rough. Fierce and unrestrained. Nate catalogued the differences with part of his mind while he sank into the intimacy of being so close to another person again. Adam’s lips were soft, but the contrasting rasp of stubble made the kiss different. The hard body rubbing against his own was different as well, with none of the cushioning curves he’d enjoyed with Rosa. Rosa. He wrenched from Adam’s arms and hurried to the door, yanking it open. His breath came in loud gasps, almost panicked. “There. No big deal. It’s over and now we both know.” “Know what?” Adam padded up behind him and pushed his hand against the door. It shut with a sharp click. “What do we know?” “That we don’t work together. We’re plain wrong.” Nate stared at the paintwork of the door, tried to ignore the note of panic in his voice, but he knew it was there. So did Adam. And the blood crowding his cock didn’t lie, either. He wanted more. “Practice makes perfect,” Adam whispered close to his ear, placing one hand on either side of his body and effectively caging him against the door. “Turn around.” Nate swallowed. He could feel Adam’s body along his back, the heat of him. Smell him—clean, musky male. Damn, he couldn’t show fear. He had to bluff his way out of this, pretend the kiss hadn’t made him crazy and backfired on him. Instead of disgust, he wanted to explore Adam’s body. Worse, he wanted to kiss and touch every inch. Shit! Who’d have thought a single kiss would cause so much trouble. He should have walked away instead of following his stupid impulse to try to prove to Adam he was wrong about an attraction between them. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a coward.”

Indignant, Nate turned to glare at Adam. “I’m not a cow—” Adam stopped his heated words with a kiss. This one, it was nothing like the first. It started slow, a mere brushing of lips, the gentleness of it sending signal fires darting through Nate’s body. He gasped, and Adam took advantage, stroking his tongue over Nate’s, deepening the contact. Adam didn’t move, didn’t do anything except kiss him. Somewhere along the line, Nate forgot he was kissing a man and went with the soar of sensations racing through him, the pleasure. The yearning. Slowly, Adam pulled away, and Nate realized he gripped the other man’s shoulders. He snatched his hands away, a tide of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks. That couldn’t happen again, which was a shame because he’d enjoyed the kiss. Innate honesty made him admit it to himself, and the fact that he wanted more. And worst of all, he’d never thought of Rosa the entire time. “We’ll get even better with time,” Adam whispered. “There won’t be another time.” Maybe if he said it enough, he’d come to believe it. “No? I didn’t take you for a liar, either.” “Fuck, will you stop touching me?” Fury sped through Nate, and he shoved Adam, his hands curling to fists at his sides. “I thought you wanted to run.” “Whatever.” Frustration shaded Adam’s voice this time. He stepped away to sit on the corner of the bed. “But remember this. No matter how hard and fast you run, you can’t outrun the truth.” Nate opened his mouth, about to tell Adam where to shove his truth. Something made him bite back the words, and he jerked the door open, then stomped outside. “Five minutes,” Adam called after him. Nate strode to his room and used his key to open the door. It was light out, but with the lack of noise and bustle that characterized the early hour. Perfect for a run. Snorting, he pushed inside the room. Once he realized Keith had returned and was still asleep, he made a conscious attempt to keep the noise down. Even knowing he should stay far away from Adam, Nate rifled through his bag for a pair of shorts and a tank top. Rapidly stripping, he ignored his hard-on and dressed for running. Adam was right. He couldn’t run away, not when their lives and work intertwined so intimately. But he could ignore the man and the traitorous feelings that zapped him each time they were together. Nate laced his shoes and, after shoving the key in the zip pocket of his shorts, walked outside. Adam was waiting, already working through a series of stretches. Nate joined him and commenced his own stretching routine. Neither man spoke. Somehow that was worse than discussing the topic sitting like a ten-ton elephant between them. “Where do you want to run?” Nate’s words were a husky growl. Damn. That wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. He felt Adam’s gaze stroke his face, drop briefly to his lips, and Nate uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why don’t we head for the forest reserve?” Nate’s head jerked up at the suggestion. “That’s a long run.” Adam wasn’t as fit as him. The run would challenge him. Adam shrugged. “I need a good workout.” Nate skewered him with a sharp look even as he stiffened at the suggestion buried in Adam’s words. “Let’s go.” He started running, taking the lead because the more of Adam he saw, the bigger his erection grew. Running was gonna hurt like hell, although the alternative didn’t work for him, either. “Stop thinking so hard,” Adam mocked, running easily at his side. “One of us has to think straight.” “Why? What’s so wrong about spending time with people you like? Because that’s what it comes down to.” Nate upped the pace a bit, hoping Adam would tire. Didn’t happen, and he slowed again to an easy pace, one he knew they could sustain all the way to the reserve. “This is a bad idea.” “Why?” Adam demanded again. “Spell it out. Give me reasons and maybe I’ll agree.”