Dominant Territory

Dominant Territory by Cora Zane Dominant Territory By Cora Zane 2 Dominant Territory by ...

Author: Zane Cora

18 downloads 798 Views 675KB Size Report

This content was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have the permission to share this book. If you own the copyright to this book and it is wrongfully on our website, we offer a simple DMCA procedure to remove your content from our site. Start by pressing the button below!
Report copyright / DMCA form

DOWNLOAD PDF

Dominant Territory by Cora Zane

Dominant Territory By Cora Zane

2


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Dominant Territory Copyright© 2007 Cora Zane ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐149‐7 Cover Artist: Sable Grey Editor: Leanne Salter All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Cobblestone Press, LLC www.cobblestone‐press.com

3


Dedication A special thank you to my husband, my kids, and the rest of my family simply for putting up with the long and sometimes odd hours I keep. I love yaʹll very much. Also, to Tempest Knight and Cassandra Curtis, thank you for your friendship and tireless support. You make the journey an adventure.

4


Chapter One “That’s right, ladies. Pass it around. Choose your poison.” Libby slipped one of the four flutes of golden champagne from the tray Angie circulated through the living room. The fizzy drink shimmered in the dim glow of two brass lamps decorating the cramped living room of Robin’s duplex apartment. “Since this is supposed to be an evening of celebration, I’m going to propose a toast.” Cheryl flicked back her black bangs and raised her bubbling glass of champagne in salute. “To our dear friend, Libby, who could teach us all something about men. How to love them, and how to leave them. By her own sheer brilliance, on this very day one year ago, she managed to ditch ex‐husband Mark—the evil, lying, cheating spawn of Satan—” “Here, here!” crowed Angie. “—and rejoined us once again in the glorious land of single babe‐ hood.” She shook her head triumphantly and lifted her glass toward Libby. “Welcome back, my sistah.” “Happy anniversary,” said Robin. “Hurray,” Libby murmured sarcastically as they all clinked glasses across the coffee table. “Cheers.” “Cheers,” Angie echoed. For a silent moment, the women around her sipped champagne, faces aglow, grinning at one another over their drinks. Libby went along with it, forcing a smile even though she didn’t feel it in her soul. All day

5


she’d battled down a nagging twinge of sadness, even though in her head she knew she should be at peace with the divorce by now. She didn’t love Mark anymore and, without a doubt, she was glad all the nasty dealings were behind her, but a part of her still mourned the loss. Yes, he’d been a less‐than‐perfect husband, and his betrayal had hurt her deeply. Yet, at the same time, she’d been with him since high school. Losing him after so many years was a bit like losing her left arm. “Ah, this is the life,” Angie said on a sigh. “You might not realize it, Libby, but you got it all—a big wedding, your freedom, and a handsome settlement. Now all you need is some hot young stud willing to keep you fucked down all the time and you’ll have it made.” Cheryl made a face. “Give me a break. This is the new millennia, girl. We chicks don’t need a man.” “So says the old maid,” Angie quipped. “Old maid, my ass. It’s the truth, and I can prove it.” Angie leaned forward in challenge. “Be my guest.” They all watched as Cheryl reached under the edge of Robin’s tweed couch and pulled out a long gold box with a fat red bow. She stuck her tongue out at Angie. Robin’s brow furrowed. “When the heck did you put that there?” Cheryl tossed the box into Libby’s lap. “Happy Divorce Day, cupcake.” “Wow, what’s this?” “Just a little something I picked up. Go ahead. Open it.” Libby hesitated only a moment before she stripped away the ribbon and flipped open the top of the box. “Well, well.” Angie’s auburn brows lifted. “It’s big, and it’s pink.” “Whoa,” said Robin. “That’s one huge honkin’ dildo!” Libby smirked and held up the floppy rubber dong. “Gee, thanks, Cheryl. Now what am I going to do with this thing?” Cheryl choked on her drink. “Oh god, please don’t make me explain it to you!” Robin and Angie fell out laughing and, in retaliation, Libby smacked Cheryl with one of the throw pillows from the couch. “That’s not

6


what I meant and you know it, be‐otch.” Cheryl burst into gales of laughter. “Oh god, this is great.” She sucked in a breath and grinned over at Angie and Robin. “Remind me to have a party like this on my divorce day anniversary.” “Oh, that’s compassionate,” Libby said with a sniff. She knew Cheryl didnʹt mean any harm in what she said, but the words stung nonetheless. Cheryl gulped down the last of her champagne and leaned forward, sliding her empty flute onto the tabletop. “Mark was a real jerk,” she said and reached out, her bracelets clinking, and clapped Libby on the thigh. “He lost a good thing.” “You know what? Let’s go out,” Angie suggested. “We’ll have a few drinks and dance on the tables.” “Hells yeah,” said Cheryl, climbing to her feet. “Count me in.” The way she stood up from her seat in front of Robin’s sofa made her legs look six feet long. Once she was up, Angie got up, too. She looked down at her shoes—lavender, kitten‐heel sandals—and twisted her foot appreciatively. “I knew there was a reason I got a pedicure.” Libby frowned. A private party was one thing, but going out on the town? She wasn’t sure she was up to it. “I don’t know, guys—” “Oh, come on, Libby, don’t be a poot. Robin’s going—aren’t you Robin? Yeah, see, she’s going, and she’s a prude.” Brow furrowed, Robin thumped Cheryl with a pillow. “Hey, watch it.” “This is great and all,” Angie said, looking at Cheryl, “but who’s driving?” “Not me,” said Robin, holding up her empty champagne glass. Cheryl sighed. “I guess Libby, then. I’d offer, but I’ve already got a raging buzz.” “Well, gee, thanks for volunteering my services,” she said under her breath. “Oh, shut up,” Angie muttered and reached for her purse. “Like we’d be taking anything else. Your Jeep is the closest thing we broke

7


bitches can get to a convertible.” “And you know we’ve got to represent,” said Cheryl. “Riding with the top down is gonna mess up our hair,” said Robin. Angie rolled her eyes. “If it bugs you, wear a hat.” Cheryl laughed at Robin’s sour look and stepped around the coffee table to reach Libby. “Come on, dead weight,” she said as she pulled Libby to her feet with a grunt. “Let’s put Mr. Penis away.” She took the floppy rubber dong and tossed it on the couch. “You can play with him later. Let’s go out and have some woman fun.” Twenty minutes later, while driving the downtown strip, Libby had to admit it felt good to be out. It was like being in college all over again—riding with the girls, listening to Robin and Angie sing off key in the backseat, while she and Cheryl looked at the lights, the night wind stirring their hair. Silver was a small town, with not much to see or do even on a Friday night, and most people looking for fun drove the thirty miles over to Dover. After all the years she’d wasted in L.A. pretending to be happy with Mark while he furthered his career, she had no trouble admitting just how much she’d missed it. “So where’re we going?” Cheryl shouted over the whipping wind. When Libby shrugged, she turned in her seat and shouted around the back, “Hey, Robin, didn’t you say there was a bar out on Old 31.” “What’s Old 31?” asked Angie. “Yeah, I think there is,” said Robin. “But I don’t know how to get to it.” Libby glanced at Robin in the rear view mirror and shouted, “31 is a county road. What’s the place called? Maybe I’ve heard of it.” “Ah, I’m not really sure…” “Is it Shooter’s, maybe?” She’d heard of Shooters. She passed it on the way to deliver flowers to the Garden of Rest Nursing Home at least three times a week. “No. No, it’s not Shooters. It’s something else; something like River Run. Or Creek Runner.” Robin’s close‐cropped curls bounced around her face from the wind. “I don’t know, but it’s something like that.”

8


Libby thought about it but shook her head. She’d never heard of anyplace like that. “If you follow 31 out of town, it leads up into the mountains. Maybe that’s why I’ve never heard of this place. I’ve never gone out much further than Miller’s Landing. I couldn’t tell you what’s out there.” Angie looked over at Robin. “What’s Miller’s landing?” “It’s nothing much,” answered Cheryl. “Just some old place that burned down a bazillion years ago.” She looked over at Libby. “Do you want to ride out there and take a look at it?” “I guess.” Libby shrugged. “Why not?”

9


Chapter Two “There it is!” Robin cried out and pointed around the driver’s seat as they came upon a deep curve. Libby saw nothing at first, but then the glaring white light of a plastic sign became visible through the trees. “Oh, okay,” Cheryl chirruped when she saw it, and Libby nodded as more of the sign and a driveway came into view. “I see it, now,” she said, and thought to herself, Oh, thank god! They’d been driving around for over an hour, back and forth along Old 31 and throughout a maze of connected back roads. She’d half wondered if they were looking for a bar that didn’t exist. By sheer chance, right as she was on the brink of giving up and heading back to Silver, Angie glimpsed a narrow turn off about a mile past Miller’s Landing. The road led up a series of tight bends with tall, dark trees towering along both sides of the narrow roadway. They came across no other cars on the way, only a motorcycle or two, the single headlights flaring in the pitch dark of the mountain road. Now they were here. Once around the final curve, the parking lot emerged out of nowhere, and she saw the sign they’d glimpsed was actually a worn‐out looking arrow sign blinking from a stand near the edge of the driveway. Cheryl sat higher in the passenger seat. “Wow, this place is in the middle of nowhere. Why the heck would anyone build a bar this far out?” “Maybe it’s a family thing,” said Angie. “At this point, I really don’t care. Just pull up and let me out.” Tucked away in the back of a dark, horseshoe‐shaped lot backed by

10


towering trees, stood a large, ranch‐style cabin with moonlight gleaming across the dull metal roof. “The Moonlight Run,” Angie read the name off the sign and sighed. “Whatever. It works for me.” “Are you kidding me?” shrilled Robin in obvious alarm. Under the dimly lit front porch, a multitude of old metal gas signs were tacked to the wall beneath a run of neon beer signs hanging in the windows. And just off center from the front, facing a log parking break, a string of about a dozen or so motorcycles clustered together beneath the yellow glare of a single pole light. “A biker bar.” Cheryl grimaced as they rolled slowly through the parking lot. “No wonder we’ve never heard of it, Libby. The place has probably been condemned for half a century.” The building looked pretty well put together, in Libby’s opinion, but she shrugged. “It might be condemned, but look at that.” She nodded to one of the signs blinking in one of the windows and wiggled her sleek blonde brows. “Woohoo! Every night is ladies night.” “Oh, there’s a plus,” Robin muttered. The minute Libby parked off to the side of the bar away from the bikes, Angie got up and shoved at the back of Cheryl’s seat, trying to squeeze out. “You guys can do whatever you want. I don’t care if the ghost of Elvis lives here; I’m going in.” “You’re just saying that because you’ve gotta pee.” A minute later, they were all out of the Jeep, stretching their legs, walking across the gravel parking lot to the front porch. Music thumped through the walls of the small bar, a country song which didn’t become distinguishable until they neared the front porch. Cheryl tripped going up the front steps, fell hard against Libby, who caught her arm before she could go down completely. “Whoa. Are you okay?” “Jeez, you’d think they could put up a light out here,” Cheryl grumbled as she pushed at her hair. Robin smirked. “Do you really think that would help?”

11


Angie, who beat them to the front door, looked back at them, her face hidden in shadows, her light auburn hair highlighted by a screaming red halo from the one of the neon signs. “Ladies, I’m thrilled you’re having a good time back there, but do you think we can get to the john, already?” * * * * * Drake Logan leaned against a pillar separating the pool hall from the main part of the bar, waiting for his brother to take his shot. The door suddenly opened, drawing his attention with the scent of humans and perfume. “Well, well…” Blaze stood up straight. “Look who decided to check out the wrong side of the tracks tonight.” Two women lingered at the door, a pretty redhead and a dumpy brunette. Drake smirked to himself when they hesitated at the threshold and glanced around, whispering to one another. Betsey Tillman looked over at her mate, Chase. “What do you think they’re doing here?” Chase grinned over his beer. “They probably got lost.” Blaze’s grin was nothing short of wicked as he leaned down to line up his shot. “Yeah, well, if they stick around here long enough, I’m sure they’ll get found. They don’t look too bad for a couple of human chicks.” Chase chuckled at that and, at about the same time, a low rumble of predatory male laughter drifted through the pool hall from a few tables over. Following the sound, Drake glanced to his left and spotted Roark Fallon and Glen Devlin, along with several other men from his pack, leering at the humans. Drake’s hackles rose. He’d had a few run‐ins with Roark and Glen since he’d moved to Silver. They were notorious for starting trouble with new members that came into the pack. When suddenly they stopped laughing and directed their attention at the door in genuine interest, Drake looked around again. When he saw who stepped over the threshold

12


next, his heart flipped in his chest, and his breath came out in a choked rush. Angel! Ice blonde and at least three inches shorter than her friends, she stood out like a dazzling beacon of light against the other women. Her hair swung around her face like a sexy curtain, straight as a whip, and barely brushing the top of her pale shoulders—which were deliciously bare save for the thin straps of her tank top. As she and her friends stalked across the bar toward the restrooms, she glanced around. At one point, her wide, blue eyes skimmed over his face, and the impact of her gaze sweeping over him was like a physical touch. Something inside him tensed, coiled hot and tight in that all too brief moment. Her eyes sparkled like gems in her face; pale blue and beautiful. She was beautiful. He narrowed his eyes on her, and when she licked her full lower lip in a gesture of nervousness, a tremor wracked his body. Her tall, brunette friend held the restroom door open, and his inner beast lunged forward, straining for dominance. Every predatory instinct came to life as he honed in on his Angel and the door that was about to separate her from him. An aroused growl rumbled in his chest and erupted forth in a gruff chord that shouted, Mine! “Down, boy,” Chase said on a laugh, and Betsey gaped at him. Sitting on the second tier of bleacher‐style seats along the wall of the pool hall, she gripped Chase’s shoulder and leaned around to look at him, holding her blonde curtain of hair back from her face as she did so. “Oh, my. She… That’s her?” “Yep. That would be her.” Chase grinned, lifting his brow in amusement. Drake ignored him, knew what he was getting at. The first time he’d seen the little blonde walking with her friends along Bank Street, he’d nearly wrecked his bike. Half the pack thought that near miss damn hilarious. He hadn’t forgotten that day, that was for sure—his closest friends wouldn’t to let him. Blaze nudged him with the tip of his cue stick. “Hey, bro. Your

13


shot.” Drake snarled at him, trying to ignore everyone’s amused look as he set his beer bottle down a little too heavily and took up his cue. He went around the table to line up a shot, knowing he wouldn’t be able to shoot pool for shit now. He lined up a shot with the six ball, but his gaze kept straying to the restroom door. To hell with pool. What was thirty bucks, anyway, when he was this restless, when the wolf in him needed to pace? The angel of his dreams—he couldn’t get over it. On her own, she’d crossed into his territory. It had to be fate.

14


Chapter Three Cheryl shut the restroom door behind her and leaned against it like a person bent on holding back a hoard of invading marauders. Oh my god, she mouthed, then rasped out loud, “Did you see those guys? Holy shit, we’re in a werewolf bar.” “Shout it, why don’t you?” Libby snapped as she leaned against the lavatory and shoved her hair out of her face. She turned to check herself in the mirror and caught the disgusted, narrow‐eyed look Angie shot at Robin as she slipped off into one of the toilet stalls. “How the hell did you even hear about this place?” “I looked in the phone book,” Robin snapped defensively. “You told me to find something different—it’s Silver, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I had a ton of fucking options.” “Listen.” Libby took a deep breath and gathered her wits about her. “We shouldn’t sweat this. Not yet. For one thing, we’ve been in worse places than this, haven’t we? Cheryl? Robin? Like that time at Mardi Gras? Yeah. Remember that? Now, that was a freaking disaster. This…this is only a mix‐up. We didn’t know. This kind of thing happens.” “True,” Cheryl said skeptically. Robin huffed. “Yeah, well, out of all the times combined, we’ve never had to worry about anyone wolfing out on us.” “That’s also true.” Cheryl licked her lips. “Then again, we made it all the way across the bar and nobody messed with us, so maybe it’ll be okay.”

15


“Hardly anyone stirred when we came in,” said Libby. “So what?” Robin rested her hands on her hips. “That could mean anything.” “I say we should go back in there and give it the fifteen minute walk.” Angie peeked around the stall door. “Are you crazy?” “Shh.” Robin and Cheryl blasted her in unison. Cheryl whispered, “Keep your voice down!” “Look, everyone needs to get a grip,” Libby said. “No matter the clientele, it’s still a bar. We should handle this situation the same as always—go in, have a drink, smile a little, then walk out. No big. Fifteen minutes. For all they know, we’re just four chicks cruising a few clubs on a Friday night.” “What a load of shit,” chuffed Robin. “You really think they’ll believe that? They’ll probably think we’re here…spying on them.” Cheryl chortled. “They’re werewolves, not secret agents.” Libby threw her hands in the air. “If you’ve got a better idea on how to get out of here without raising any eyebrows, Robin, I’d really love to hear it.” Robin clammed up and crossed her arms over her chest. The toilet flushed, and she bumped away from the stall door as Angie emerged, her boot heels clicking over the tile as she went to the sink to wash her hands. “At least the rotting bathrooms are clean,” she grumbled. “Otherwise this whole fucking trip might not be tolerable at all.” “Jesus Christ.” Libby rubbed her temples. “Would you please shut up bitching for even ten minutes?” Angie wheeled on her, green eyes blazing. “Listen up, sister—” “Hey! Hey!” Cheryl cut in, sounding supremely annoyed. “Could we save the royal bitchfest for later? I’d just assume that whatever we’re going to do, we get this over with and get the hell out of here.” Robin nodded in fervent agreement. Angie backed down, but she pressed her lips together in a thin little line, eyeing Libby in a way that let everyone know she was anything but happy…or letting things slide.

16


“Now that that’s cleared up,” Cheryl said, straightening her shoulders. “We can do this.” She dusted her hands over the lapels of her velvet vest, took a deep breath, and shook out her hands. “Ready, ladies? Fifteen minutes.” She gripped the door handle and prepared to pull it open. “Work it like you own it.” When they came out of the restroom, Libby felt at least a dozen pairs of eyes glance their direction. It took nerves of steel to fight the urge to break for the front door, but she took a deep breath and kept herself cool and collected. She smoothed the sides of her denim skirt, tossed back her hair, and followed Robin, Cheryl, and Angie up to the bar. They grouped together at the far curve of the bar. As the burly, gray‐bearded bartender turned toward them, Cheryl slapped her hand on the countertop and pasted on a kilowatt smile. “What’ll it be tonight, ladies?” Cheryl glanced around at everyone. When Angie and Robin shrugged, so did she. “I guess we’ll have a round of whiskey shots and Coke chasers.” “Except for me,” said Libby, raising her hand. “Cola only here—I’m driving.” The bartender nodded and moved away to get their drinks. While they waited, Libby glanced around anxiously. Following Angie’s lead, she pulled up a stool, moving closer to Robin, but as soon as she sat down and smoothed her short skirt over her thighs, the music stopped playing. The minute the jukebox stopped, the bar fell startlingly quiet. Vulnerability settled over her, leaving her with a sense of total exposure. A drop of perspiration trickled down her side. Somehow, the loud thump of the music had carried the weight of a protective shield. She glanced over at the others, to see if they felt it, too. Cheryl stared back at her, her eyes wide as moons. She licked her lips, waiting to see if anyone made a move. When no one went to the jukebox, she shrugged at the others, nodded to the bartender as he set her cola down in front of her, then slid off the stool. * * * * *

17


When Drake saw his angel separate herself from her pack, his every instinct told him to pounce. Instead, he held back, fighting the fierce urge crawling over him, prickling his skin. He waited until she reached the jukebox before he allowed himself to make a move. When she tugged a dollar from the small fold of bills in her hand, he thrust the cue stick at his brother. Ignoring Chase’s gruff laughter, he started toward her like a predator stalking its prey. He knew the minute every male in the bar realized what he was about to do. A sudden stillness came over the place like a collective, pent up breath. He sensed the others watching him, tense, interested; curious to see what this female’s reaction to him would be. The pack didn’t have very many females, and more than one lupine in the joint would have given their eyeteeth to take a human mate—if they could find one who would accept them and their feral nature. More than likely, he was about to end up with a slapped face, but it was worth the shot. There were worse things. Besides, if it happened, it wouldn’t be the first time. As he approached her, she glanced up at him, her gaze settling on his chest before flicking upward to meet his eyes. She looked away as though she hadn’t seen him at first, but quickly did a double take. The way her pale‐blue gaze collided with his on the rebound sent a streak of fire racing through his blood. “You’re new here,” he said once he was within striking distance. He offered a hand to her. “I’m Drake.” “Hi.” Without a shred of hesitation, she slid her hand easily into his, which surprised the hell out of him. “I’m Libby.” “Nice to meet you, Libby. Can I buy you a drink?” She smiled shyly and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m designated tonight.” Her admission eased the initial sting of rejection, but only a little. He moved around to the face of the jukebox with her, and she sidled over to give him room. When she did so, he almost groaned as he caught a whiff of her scent on the air—no perfume, just the faint scent of body

18


powder and warm skin. Her nearness was enough to kill him. “So, what brings you and your friends out to the Moonlight Run?” “We were just driving around and saw the place.” He nodded. “I wondered. Some of us thought you ladies might’ve gotten lost but were afraid to say anything.” He gestured at the room. “We welcome everyone here, but we don’t get very many humans out this far. Especially not pretty ones.” “Oh.” Her glance flickered from his face as embarrassment curled through her and a deep flush colored her cheeks. “Well, we’re not lost, we just...we...” “Didn’t realize this place is a werekind bar?” he teased. It happened more often than she realized. She nodded, obviously uncomfortable, and he grinned to himself. “It’s okay, angel. Like I said, we welcome everyone.” Again, she nodded, but it seemed she concentrated awfully hard on the song menu. He sidled a little closer, brushed lightly against her, testing her reaction. She shifted a little to make room for him but, to his surprise, she didn’t flinch, didn’t seem offended. Instead, she looked more concerned about the jukebox. She flipped through more of the selections while worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Having trouble deciding?” “Actually, I—” She sighed and glanced at him. “Okay, you got me. I don’t really know a lot of these songs. Maybe you could recommend a few?” An excited pulse beat in his cock. So far so good… “No problem.” Encouraged by her friendliness, he edged in closer, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back while he proceeded to search out the slowest, sexiest songs on the list. Libby’s heart pounded so hard it was a wonder Mr. Big and Sexy didn’t hear it, or in the very least, feel it throbbing in her spine. His hand on her lower back sent tingling sensation sweeping along her nerve endings. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if he weren’t so damn gorgeous. Certainly none of the guys who’d ever hit on her in a mainstream bar had ever looked so good. Dark blond hair bordering on

19


brown, and six feet of solid muscle wrapped in denim and leather. Her nerves eased as she watched his strong, tanned hand feed the machine and press the buttons to make the selections. Better him than her. Her hands were shaking so bad, she doubted she could’ve managed to get one of her dollar bills into the money slot. Even if she’d been able to, she certainly didn’t want this guy to see her trembling, to know just what kind of effect he had on her. It seemed ridiculous how many men had hit on her since her divorce. Good men, human men… She’d never batted an eyelash; had turned them down flat. Now that she had a shape‐shifter flirting with her, she not only found him incredibly attractive, she felt as if her brain had been rewired. The music started playing, deep, yet melodic, and a knot lodged in her throat when she realized the werewolf—Drake—had picked a slow song. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that; nothing romantic, nothing that sounded as if it should’ve been playing for a couple bathed by candlelight. He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming like bits of obsidian, the lights from the jukebox adding a bluish cast to his rugged, angular face. She opened her mouth to explain she had to go—where she didn’t know, back to her friends, or to the bar where they likely sat gawking at her—but before she could get the words out, his hand moved to her elbow. “Dance with me.”

20


Chapter Four Before Libby could turn him down, Drake ran his hand along her back and guided her to the tiny dance floor. He didn’t give a shit about dancing, but having this woman pressed up against him was suddenly the most important thing in his entire life. He wanted her—to feel her, smell her, and taste her—it did little good to deny it. He didn’t care what anyone thought, or the fact that she was human. Something about her drew him; it had since that first day he’d seen her window shopping in the square. But if he intended to make anything of his interest in her, it needed to be now, in order to establish boundaries that anyone within fifty feet of him could easily read. As he moved her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his embrace, he caught a glimpse of Chase and the rest of his crew watching. His little brother lifted his drink to him in salute. He nodded at them because he knew they were pulling for him, but at the same time the beast in him recognized them as males. As competition. To finally have his angel in his arms after wondering about her, fantasizing about her, for weeks, it was a hard draw to keep his baser instincts under control. Especially when he knew every male in the joint watched them—watched her. The idea of anyone else looking at her made his hackles rise. Even with her strappy, high‐heeled shoes on, she was half a head shorter than he. While he’d known at first glance she was petite, he’d never guessed just how fragile she really was. New instincts surged up

21


inside him, and he wrapped himself around her protectively. She fit into him in all the right places, made him sigh with gut‐twisting pleasure. As they danced, the faint scent of her arousal reached him. He closed his eyes, breathing it in, savoring. Sweet and clean, and milky…he could almost taste it. He swallowed thickly, more excited just holding her than he ever could have imagined. It took every ounce of his control to keep from sliding his hands lower to the curve of her tight little ass. His cock twitched as he imagined himself sliding a hand up under that short denim skirt to caress the dewy pearl between her thighs. If she would have allowed it, he’d gladly go to his knees and lick her, suck her, until she begged him for mercy. The smell of her hot cream made him unbearably hard, made him want to howl with his frustration. As tortured as he was by her nearness, he couldn’t help but smile inside. Even as wary as she seemed, she didn’t balk from him, not even when he looked directly into her sparkling eyes. He desired her, yes, but he also respected her for that innocent directness. It had been a long, long time since a woman had responded to him with anything other than fear or loathing. Libby couldn’t help but want to melt herself closer to Drake as he guided her around the dance floor. Every inch of his hard body spoke of leashed strength, of fluid muscle. And the way they moved together, his body brushing up against hers, felt entirely too good for her sanity. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he nuzzled her, his breath stirring her hair. The sensation created instant havoc on her senses, made her shiver even as he leaned in and whispered against her ear, “Have you ever been with a wolf?” Her womb clenched at the rough promise in his voice, and juices slithered to her panties, making them damp. She could only stare, transfixed, into his mesmerizing eyes. They seemed to dip between shades of deep, dark blue and obsidian black. Was he serious? Making an offer? Her lips parted in awe. “Would you ever consider it?” His heated gaze sent blood rushing her to her face. Her thoughts sputtered to a standstill; she could almost hear the little hamster wheel

22


shutting down. He was staring at her with those sensual, hot eyes, and she couldn’t seem to produce a coherent thought. She licked her lips nervously, unable to stop herself. The temperature in the room seemed to have jumped twenty degrees. Other than a werewolf, who was this guy that he practically had her panting in her shoes just from the looks he gave her? God help her if he actually laid hands on her. Her ex had certainly never looked at her this way. As if she were a juicy steak meant for devouring. And oh, to be devoured by a man as hot as this… Her thoughts took on a naughty slant as she imagined what he must look like shirtless: tight abs, chest flecked with fine gold hair and a wealth of taut, rippling muscle. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and glanced over at Robin, Angie, and Cheryl for moral support. They watched her, although they were trying to seem nonchalant about it. Libby knew better. She saw the silent gleam in their eyes that clearly said she’d lost her mind, and she couldn’t help her own feelings of disappointment. If only she had come here alone… “What would you say if your friends weren’t watching you?” Drake asked, his voice husky. Thrown off guard by the sudden perception of her thoughts, she darted her gaze to his face. With a single, sure‐footed move, he spun her around on the dance floor, effectively blocking off her line of sight to her friends. His boldness and determination excited her. “Tell me the truth.” She gaped up at him, scarcely able to think, her face burning hot. Her nerves already skating on a fine edge, when he reached out and smoothed a lock of her hair back from her face, her womb clenched in answer, and a sweet pulse throbbed in her clit. He pulled her close again and whispered against her ear. “Am I so scary you can’t tell me if I have a chance?” “I—I guess anything’s possible,” she rasped out, startled by the huskiness of her own voice. “How possible?” His warm breath made her shiver. Her heart picked up the pace,

23


and she went more than a little lightheaded. She turned her face, allowing the briefest contact between her cheek and his. Fine stubble abraded her skin, and she shivered as razor‐sharp sensation spiraled straight to her core. She caught the slight tang of beer on his breath, the scent dulled by the spicy scent of his cologne. Oh god, he was divine… But could she really go that far? Could she ever be with a wolf? She knew she should say no, but a niggling, naughty little voice in her head screamed, Yes! Squirming inside with a mixture of lust and uncertainty, she glanced toward her friends just in time to see Angie tossing her drink in some guy’s face. Poor unfortunate, thought Libby, then flinched when the man flicked his dripping hair out of his face and snarled, flashing his canines in Angie’s face. “Stupid jerk! Who the hell do you think you are?” Angie’s furious voice rang over the music like a gunshot, and all hell broke loose. In the blink of an eye, at least a hundred and eighty pounds of very pissed off werewolf lunged at her, claws extended, teeth bared. “Whoa, whoa! Roark!” The bartender, and at least five other guys, jumped toward Angie’s attacker from every direction, caught him mid lunge, and restrained him while Angie stumbled back, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Libby froze in Drake’s arms as she watched the fray, alarm bells going off in her brain, and a prickling chill of fear racing up and down her spine. Tables and chairs scattered a dozen different directions as the group of men struggled to wrestle the enraged werewolf to the floor. Blood pounding in her ears, she jerked out of Drake’s arms. The man, Roark, looked bent on ripping Angie’s throat out. He rumbled and snarled as the other men held his arms and tried to bring him under control—an effort that didn’t seem to be working. Right as Libby would have skirted around the scuffle, he threw his weight back and broke free of two of the men that held him. He stumbled to his feet, overturned two tables, and scattered back a set of chairs. His angular face a taut mask of fury, he lunged again toward Angie. This time men came running out of the back with pool cues in

24


hand. One of those men had a scar across his forehead and a gleam of hatred in his eyes. Libby’s heart leaped in fear when she realized he headed straight for Angie. Swallowing a cry of alarm, she leaped over a fallen chair, looking for a way across to where Robin and Cheryl held Angie back. Somewhere behind her, Libby heard Drake curse. She couldn’t think about it—about leaving him on the dance floor—they needed to get Angie out of the bar now. “Help me get her out of here!” Cheryl shouted at Robin, while Angie rasped obscenities at the man she’d splashed. Is she out of her mind? Libby wondered. She could only catch fragments of what Angie’s said over the chaos, but every word she shrieked seemed to be a magic bullet for the man’s wrath. He looked ready to kill. Finally, Cheryl jerked Angie free from her tirade, and to Libby it looked as if the redhead had been snatched back by an invisible rope. Robin and Cheryl grabbed her by the arms and hauled her away, kicking and screaming, toward the door. At the exit, Cheryl shoved Robin and Angie through the door and glanced back at her. Trapped on the other side of the room, Libby waved them on and looked for a different path around the tangle of men. She’d just skirted her way between two overturned tables when the bartender threw up the end of the counter and came out of the pit with a baseball bat in his hand. “Get him under control, Glen, or I’m putting him out of his misery!” A shriek of fear raced through her, and she scampered so fast through the carnage of broken furniture, it felt as if she walked on air. During all the pandemonium, Libby had lost track of Drake. When finally she reached the door, she stopped and glanced around, her heart thundering as she tried to locate him among the others. In all the chaos, she couldn’t make out one person from the next. A full‐on brawl rocked the place. Fists pummeled flesh, and there were more fangs in the room than Libby dared to chance. Realizing she could do nothing more, she frowned and hurried out the door to catch up with the

25


others. Her feet had barely touched down on the front porch when the door halted mid‐swing and flew open again. She squawked as she was caught from behind, a hand closing firmly around her upper arm. Before she could shout or put up a fight, someone pulled her roughly toward the darkest end of the shadowed porch. She opened her mouth to scream. “Shh, angel, it’s only me.” “Drake?” Instead of an answer, she saw a split‐second flash of his eyes before his mouth came crashing down over hers. Her whole body lit up when she he pressed up against her, hard and hot, a wall of solid muscle. He cradled her head with one hand, while his other arm wrapped around her waist. The sensation came over her so suddenly, blazed so high and intense, her breath locked in her lungs, and she thought she might go up in flames. He devoured her mouth, his expert tongue sliding past the seam of her lips to duel and slid against her own. She went up on her toes as his hand drifted from her waist to the curve of her thigh and smoothed upward, dragging the hem of her denim skirt with it. For a moment, she stiffened, her breath catching as he kneed her thighs apart and stepped into the cradle of hips. She moaned when his thick erection pressed against her lower belly. And when the thrust against her—Ah, damn… She thought she’d melt into a pool of putty on the ground. Foreheads touching, their ragged breathing loud in the silence of the night, Libby traced her fingers along his lips and groaned. “Drake, no… W‐we can’t…not here…” He kissed her fingers. “I know, angel. But I couldn’t let you get away without a goodbye kiss.” His words twisted her stomach into an aroused knot. She nodded stiffly, her heart winging high in her chest even as her cunt clamored for him to fill her. It was insanity. She didn’t know anything about this man, only his name and that he was forbidden. At the same time, she’d never

26


been more desperately attracted to anyone in her life. She looked into his eyes, those glittering wells of desire, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she went up on tiptoes again, wrapped her arms around his neck, and sank her tongue into his mouth. He welcomed her with a growl of satisfaction, opened to her, beckoning the twirl of her tongue and the twisting of her fingers in his hair. He tasted so good…like something primitive and wild. She was in way over her head, and she knew it, yet she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t get enough. Drake made a low, aroused sound when she smoothed her hands down the back of his leather jacket and lower to grip his tight, jean‐clad ass. When she squeezed him, urged him to grind against her once more, something savage changed in him. His hand snaked around behind her and grabbed the cheek of her ass and, in one swift movement, he pulled her thigh up over his and backed her higher against the wall. When he pinned her arms over her head, a whimper of excitement escaped her lips. She was so wet, so excited, she was either going to come, or her heart was going to go past its limits and unravel into pure sensation. “Tell me you want me,” he whispered, his voice husky, his every word shooting darts of pleasure through her veins. Libby closed her eyes, flinching and sighing with every little nipping kiss he planted against her neck. Her nipples pebbled, begging for his attention. He changed his grip on her, gathered both of her wrists into one hand, and slid his calloused palm down to cover and squeeze her left breast. “Tell me,” he demanded roughly, and Libby gasped then shivered as he leaned down and slurped at the taut nipple through the silky fabric of her shirt. “Oh god, I want you...” He’d just begun to slide the side of her shirt up her body when a horn she recognized as her own vehicle’s honked from the parking lot. She groaned. Reluctantly, they both slowed their explorations, the sweet

27


nipping kisses, and looked at one another. Time up. She’d had never felt so denied in her life. Drake released her hands and rested his forehead against hers. His rough breathing sounded like a tempting, erotic song. “Well, shit,” he grumbled. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” she said on a breathless moan, and he buried his face against her, nuzzling her neck, his tongue tracing a path to her collarbone. There he kissed her, his breath loud against her skin as he nipped her skin hard enough to make her wince. “Hey!” She giggled and pulled back, rubbed the spot he’d bitten. “No hickies, you.” He sniffed hard right against her flesh. “Damn, you smell so good…” He pulled back then, his hand cradling her head, and he gazed into her eyes. The honking horn became insistent, a shrill, annoying cry for her to hurry. “You’d better go.” His voice sounded thick, unnaturally gruff. She nodded absently. Then, cursing under her breath, she smoothed her hands up the front of his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him softly, tenderly, her eyes flicking up to his, wanting him to see how he made her feel. When he finally pulled away, he looked up and down the porch, as though undecided about what he should do. He looked at her again, and his mouth firmed into a solid line. “I promise, we’ll pick up on this later.” “Yeah, later…” She doubted it, but she knew the game. It made her a little sad to know the words were meaningless, but she nodded anyway. After planting a kiss on his chin, she leaned up from the wall. While he stood watching her in the dark, she quickly straightened her shirt, her skirt, and then smiled weakly and started across the porch. When she bounded down the front steps and walked across the lot, she felt him watching her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his silhouette leaning against one of the porch rails. Such a dark, imposing figure… Too bad what he said wasn’t true. Her whole body was alive, every nerve ending tingling where he’d touched her. She wasn’t entirely sure she walked straight. His scent was

28


all over her; warm skin and spice. She thought about it, and tingles raced over her body. Realizing just how close and intimate she’d been with him, her nipples tweaked to diamond hardness. All that muscle and leashed strength... Mmm... When she reached the Jeep, everyone was already inside, seated and ready to go. Cheryl and Angie were in the midst of a heated argument, but as she reached for the steering wheel, Cheryl turned angry eyes on her. “What the hell was keeping you?” Libby tossed her friend a frown. She wasn’t about to get into a debate or argument. Neither did she plan to tell her what she’d really been doing. She gripped the steering wheel and tugged herself up onto the seat. “Forgive me, princess, I was just trying to smooth things over.” “I’ll bet,” Robin said, and something in her tone of voice set off warning bells. Libby glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then at Cheryl to see if she’d heard, but Cheryl was now turned around in her seat again and had resumed her argument with Angie. “I don’t care what you say!” “You don’t have to. That was a stupid, thoughtless, dangerous thing to do. You could’ve gotten someone hurt. No— Whatever. Whatever, Angie. See? I’m not talking about it anymore.” Angie raged on, but Cheryl merely swayed her hand in the air as she turned and sat heavily in the passenger seat. “Libby, drive.” Gladly, she thought as she stepped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot. Once she’d gotten them on the right path back to 31, she glanced back at Angie. “What the hell happened back there anyway?” “Damn werewolf asked me if I wanted to mate with him. Can you believe that? I mean, right out of the blue!” Angie curled her lip in disgust. “Ugh. What the hell did he think I was going to say? He knew I was human. Like I’d really go home with a freaking dog…” “They’re not dogs,” Libby said gently. Angie’s eyes flashed. “So says you. I say if it walks like a duck, and

29


it talks like a duck—” Sighing softly, Libby let it go. Why argue when it was clear Angie wasn’t going to even try to have an open mind about it? In the rearview mirror, she saw Angie pull out a compact from her purse and hold it up, looking at her neck and ear. Cheryl turned back in the seat and rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother…” “Did he bite you?” Robin asked in horror. “Not for lack of trying.” The guy had been pissed, Libby would give Angie that much. The wild look in his eyes, the way he’d bared his teeth like a snapping, rabid dog… No telling what he would’ve done if his friends hadn’t wrestled him down like a wild animal. Libby maneuvered carefully down the winding road, throwing the Jeep into neutral when she came upon Old 31. She braked at the stop sign, checking both ways before pulling out. As she shifted into second, she glancing left at the blue road sign bearing the name of the county road, and felt it in her bones. Her life had taken a wild turn tonight. She couldn’t explain it, but her life had changed inexplicably. It wasn’t at all clear to her how but, as she drove in the direction of the Silver city limits, she knew it to be true. A scant ten minutes ago she’d been all over the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life—a guy who just so happened to be a werewolf—and she knew in her heart if she’d had two minutes more, she likely would’ve have had him inside her, too. And the thing was, she would’ve welcomed it. Would have welcomed him taking her right there on the porch of the bar. Cream gathered between her thighs at the thought of his big body taking hers, of his hands sliding up her legs again, higher, smoothing under the hem of her denim skirt. She shivered as she imagined his rough fingers pushing aside her panties. Remembering the thick erection she’d felt nudging against her, how could she not want to feel it thrusting hard inside her? It was all she could do not to gasp for breath. Her womb clenched, her clit ached in need of a stranger—a werewolf at that. Heat stole into her face. She didn’t care about the complexities of her feelings or

30


his nature, all she knew was that when he’d touched her, her body came to life. Adjusting her rearview mirror, she caught Robin’s hard expression and tense jaw. Libby gave pause, did a double take. Her expression taut, Robin stared at her for a brief second then glanced away into the night. Heat rushed to her face. It seemed almost as if Robin could see right through her, knew her every dirty thought. The girl was about as open minded as a clam, too, and that made it even worse. Her heart sank like a rock. Not that Robin’s opinion should matter. What she did with Drake was her business. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d ever see the guy again anyway.

31


Chapter Five Warm hands slid over her body, caressing her in a deliciously frustrating way along her thighs and across the sensitive plane of her stomach. Libby sighed. The pleasure of being touched lulled her like a drug. She looked down at the strong hands with long, tapered fingers expertly fondling her breasts. They pinched and flicked at her sensitive nipples, then plumped and molded her softer flesh. Through a shaft of moonlight streaming into the dark of the room, she caught snippets of his face—the chiseled, arrogant jaw line, the bold nose and magnetic eyes. As if to tease her, he grinned in the dark; a predator’s smile. Those sensual, masculine lips quirked at the corners and, for a brief instant, she caught a glimpse of sharp, white teeth. Giddy with desire, she reached for him, but her fingers only grazed his warm skin. Her dream lover dipped back into the shadows, out of reach, leaving her lost, abandoned… Needing him. She gasped in the dream, irritated, desperate to claim this man, to have him lay her down, make love to her. Her every nerve ending seemed on fire, begging for his touch. Her clit throbbed, and a heaviness ached in her womb. Frustrated, she ran in slow motion through the dark, every now and again catching glimpses of her lover far ahead of her. She would have given anything to have him take her in that very moment, but he kept moving. When she tried to call out to him, she found she couldn’t speak his name. After a few feet, the shadowed room became a dark forest. As he

32


moved away from her, moonlight rippled through the trees over his dark blond hair, across the firm muscles of his torso, thighs, buttocks. Somewhere behind her, she could hear a dog growling—or maybe it was a wolf—so she ran faster, her desire almost consuming her. An unsatisfied pulse throbbed between her legs, hampering her ability to run. Just when she thought all was lost, she saw him again up ahead, and her heart soared. His feral eyes locked on hers, and when she realized what he was doing, her breath seized in her lungs, and heat rushed to her face. She halted mid step, her lips parting as she gazed at his straining erection and the veined hand smoothing over it. She moaned, when she glanced back to his face and saw the look of ecstasy straining his shadowed features. As he growled and worked his shaft faster, her own desire climbed, soared, grew so hot it erupted inside her, a sudden burst ripping through her womb… Libby leaped upright in bed, gasping for breath, her heart pounding as her erotic dream followed her out into the waking world. She shuddered and choked out a groan as her pussy spasmed and juices slicked her inner thighs. It took her so strong, she went lightheaded and she fell back in the bed. Drake! His name a desperate plea in her mind, she draped an arm over her eyes as the last of her climax spiraled away, leaving her flushed, spent, and slightly embarrassed. At last, her breathing and heart rate slowed to normal, and the sounds of the morning reached her; a car passing on the street in front of her house, the birds chirping, the trees rustling… She yawned and brought her arm down, tightening and flattening the sheets over her breast as she squinted over at the alarm clock. 10:00 A.M. Robin’s waiting for me. “Shit.” Shaken and annoyed, she tossed back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed and gazed at herself in the mirror of her dressing table.

33


She shivered as she got up, the light breeze from the ceiling fan chilling her as she went across the room and searched through the chest of drawers for something to wear. Her inner thighs felt slick; she needed a shower. Recalling the confusion of her dream, was it any wonder? After the goodbye Mr. Stud had given her at the bar, it was no surprise she’d had a wet dream. At least something good had come out of their little walk on the wild side. What a disastrous night. A bar brawl topped off with catfights all the way home—snapping and snarling teeth, indeed… Even after they’d made it back into the Silver city limits, the arguments in the Jeep hadn’t ended. Cheryl and Angie had stayed at one another’s throats, and Robin had acted bitchy and sullen all the way back to her apartment. By the time she reached the complex where Robin lived, a raging headache had throbbed in her head. She’d never been so glad to dump the girls off and go home. Rubbing a hand over her hair, she picked up her cell phone on the way to the shower and dialed Robin. They had plans to meet up for the Silver Festival. The phone rang several times, but no one answered. She hung up before the option to leave a voice mail came up and dialed Angie instead. The phone rang but, once again, no one answered. More than likely everyone had slept in late, since it’d been around midnight when she dropped them off. After everything they’d gone through, plus all the bickering, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if they slept until noon. Since she knew already that Cheryl had to work, it would be pointless to try calling her, but she hated the idea of going to the street fair alone. Frowning to herself, she stripped out of her night clothes, pulled back the shower curtain, and turned on the water. As she stepped into the piping hot spray, she told herself she’d try calling Angie and Robin again after breakfast. * * * * * Bluegrass music swelled on the air and, every few feet, a breeze

34


brought with it the smell of popcorn, hotdogs, and funnel cake. Squinting in the sunlight, Libby sipped her lemonade and wished she’d worn her sunglass. Thinking maybe she would buy a pair on the strip, she walked along Bank Street, listening to the music, and at times glancing toward the local square‐dancers performing on the gazebo‐shaped stage in the town square. Their troupe consisted mostly of elderly ladies who smiled brightly as they twirled in their costumes, the colorful skirts flaring out like the large, ruffled petals of a carnation. Kids lurked everywhere; playing tag through the crowds or just standing around. Laughing, whining, or begging for balloons, they hung out in groups or with their parents. Libby made her way through the crowds toward the avenue where she’d noticed the Native American crafts and jewelry booths being set up the day before. Drawn over to the series of displays where she saw patterned horse blankets, she stopped by an open case holding dozens upon dozens of silver necklaces hanging from Lucite pegs. Forgetting about the sunglasses, she picked through the necklaces, looking at the designs— ovals, salamanders, some basic shapes encrusted with opal or turquoise. One necklace in particular caught her eye; a small abalone heart with angel wings. She flipped it over, wondering how much it cost. “It would look pretty on you,” said a deep voice from behind her. Libby looked over her shoulder and, when she saw who had spoken and met those dark blue eyes, a smile curled inside her, and an electric shiver skittered down her spine. “Well, hey, you.” “I wondered if you’d remember me.” “Of course, I do.” Heat flared in her cheeks. If he only knew what she’d been dreaming about just an hour or so earlier… “So, are you just out and about this morning?” “I’ve been looking for you.” The husky tone of his voice sent a small thrill winging through her. She licked her dry lips and shifted a little when her clothes seemed to constrict around her, a little too close to her skin. “I see…” He grinned then looked at the vendor and pointed at the necklace. “We’ll take one of those.”

35


“But, Drake...” Her lips parted slightly in surprise when he whipped out his wallet and handed over two twenties to the vendor. The money exchanged hands, and quickly she snapped out of it, laying a restrictive hand on his arm. “Really, you shouldn’t.” He ignored her, took the winged heart necklace she’d been admiring, and said, “After everything that went on last night, consider it a peace offering.” She stared at him, flabbergasted, as he unclasped the necklace and reached around her, not from the back but from in front, and fastened the chain around her neck. When he turned it so the clasp was in back, she touched the pendant with her fingertips and looked up into his eyes. “It’s beautiful. I really don’t know what to say.” He shrugged. “Thank you would do okay.” A heated blush infused her cheeks, and she looked down at the necklace again. “Thank you. Really. It’s very sweet of you.” Drake put a hand against her lower back and led her away from the row of booths and the noise of the square. At last, he squinted over at her, and her nerves buzzed in anticipation. A question burned in his eyes, and she sensed him working his way toward asking it. “How are your friends?” he finally asked. “It got pretty hairy last night. More so than usual.” “They’re okay—a little ruffled maybe.” She shrugged, frowning, wondering if what he’d said was a double entendre. “Overall I’d say they’re no worse for wear. I’m sorry it turned ugly like it did; I don’t really know what happened. I guess it’s safe to say Angie and your friend didn’t hit it off.” Boy, was that the understatement of the year. “Roark can be an asshole on the best of days,” he said seriously. “I won’t apologize for him. But I have to be straight with you. All of you came into our territory knowing what we were. Some of the males…well, they took that as an invitation.” “I guess I can understand that.” She blanched. She’d certainly given him an invitation by flirting with him, dancing with him, kissing him like she had. Never mind her erotic dreams.

36


When Drake stopped directly in front of her, she drew up short. Breath held, she waited for the point she sensed was coming. He raked a hand through his hair, and she knew why he’d guided her away from the booths. It was coming. He glanced away briefly to study a group of passersby, and when he looked back at her again, his game face was on, his emotions sealed carefully behind an unreadable mask. “Tell me the truth. Are you seeing anyone?” “I’m divorced,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “My friends and I… Last night we were celebrating—sort of.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced down at her feet. “It’s been a year.” Drake nodded and rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. He seemed somewhat relieved by her admission and once again slid his arm through hers. As they walked, she looked up at his rugged profile. “What about you? You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” “No. But I’d like to.” He studied her face a moment, his eyes a fierce, gleaming blue. With a loud sigh, he stopped walking and turned to her. “I think you know what I’m getting at, Libby. And it wouldn’t be easy. Wolves dating humans is still kind of a taboo around here, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And since you know what I am... After last night… If you’re willing, I’d like to give it a try.” A shy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She couldn’t help it. Excitement and joy curled through her from head to toe. She reached for his hand and glanced toward the booths set up along a sunny stretch of Main Street, all the while fighting an inner excitement she probably shouldn’t have felt at all. She wanted to shout, to do cartwheels. Instead, she looked up at him, using her free hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “Where do we go from here?” * * * * * Less than ten minutes later, Libby turned into her driveway and parked under the oak tree out front—her favorite spot in the yard. She yanked up the emergency brake and killed the engine, then sat in the

37


silence of her Jeep, almost sick from the excitement zinging through her body. “Oh god, Libby, what are you doing?” she whispered to herself as she flipped the visor down, cringing when she saw the nervousness shining in her over‐bright eyes and clinging to her flushed face. Nothing to be done about it, she thought and flicked her hair out of her eyes. She took a deep breath to break the tension, and then jolted in her seat when she heard the thunderous rumble of Drake’s motorcycle as he came up the street and pulled into her yard. Heart racing, she climbed out of her Jeep and stood by the door, watching as he pulled up next to her and the bike rumbled to slumberous silence. As he set the stand, it dawned on her that Drake rode without a helmet. When he eased off the motorcycle, those muscular legs clad in leather and denim, and his blond hair mussed from the wind, she imagined a modern‐day Viking. Smiling shyly, she waited for him at the back of the bike, and took his hand in hers when he joined her. Together they crossed the shady yard with its wealth of blue hydrangea, crocus, and wild honeysuckle to the porch. “So, this is where you live?” he asked as they tromped up the front steps. “This is it.” She pushed through the screen door and held it open for him, welcoming him into her home. His boots thudded on the hardwood floor. The house inside was cool and otherwise quiet, the only sound coming from the birds outside and the electric hum of the refrigerator at the far end. She latched the screen like always, and left the front door open to catch the natural light, which gleamed across the gray, hardwood floors like a fuzzy white stripe. She stepped aside, letting Drake look around, unable to imagine what he must think or what he could possibly glean from the sparse decoration of her house. The front room had a couch and a television, and a few books on the built‐in shelf along the back wall, but nothing else, nothing that hinted at her personality.

38


She kept the place tidy, but she didn’t own much, hadn’t really focused on fixing it up since moving in, which now that she had company, embarrassed her a little. “It’s kind of bare,” she said apologetically, and he looked over at her, his gentle gaze warming her as it touched her face. “You live alone,” he said, then glanced over to the mantle above the fireplace where she kept the pictures of her parents and her friends. “I wondered if you did. Is this your family?” “That would be them.” “They live around here?” “No, not here in Silver. Not anymore. Once dad retired, they sold our old house on Potter Street and moved to Florida.” She sighed. “Looks like I’m the only straggler in the family still hanging around here.” “I’m glad for your straggling.” With a teasing grin, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Excitement beat at her. She’d thought she’d never see him again, much less hold him. Now here they were in her den, no friends to scold her for wanting him, no one to stop her from claiming what she knew in her soul she wanted. She reached out to smooth her hands over the flat lapels of his leather jacket, caressing him as she might’ve caressed his bare skin. He gathered her close, his lips moving expertly against hers in a sweet, yet sensual kiss. His tongue traced the inner edges of her lips then withdrew. His smoky eyes turned serious. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since I first laid eyes on you.” “At the bar,” she whispered in acknowledgement, but Drake shook his head. “On the street with your friends. You were window shopping on the downtown strip that day. It was on the weekend; there was a bike rally going on in town.” Libby gaped at him in surprise. She knew just what day he was talking about. “That was weeks ago.” “I know.” He chuckled. “Oh, trust me, I know it…” He kissed her then, a teasing kiss that left her lips too quickly and

39


trailed to her throat, her collarbone. She sighed and let her eyes slip shut as she tilted her head back, allowing him access. She ran her fingers through his thick hair then trailed the edge of one palm across the faint stubble on his cheek. The abrasion felt amazing, incredibly intimate. He nuzzled her closer, his lips seeking her mouth once again. She kissed him, short, deep kisses that stirred her heart and made her hungry for more. Her hands drifted lower, sought flesh under the shield of his leather jacket, but the black T‐shirt he wore barred her exploration. She slipped her hands under the thin material, but it wasn’t enough. She looked up at him, kissing his chin as she reached up and tugged at the shoulder of his leather jacket. “Why don’t you take this off?” He pulled back from her without a word, his eyes bright blue, heated, and dangerous looking as he shrugged out of the heavy coat and tossed it on the sofa. While she watched, his black T‐shirt went the route of his coat. He grasped it at the hem and tugged it up over his head in one smooth move that revealed his beautifully tan skin and gorgeous ripped abs. She couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her hands and smoothed over the sides, his stomach. His muscles contracted as her fingers brushed through the narrow strip of golden hair trailing down into the top of his jeans, and an aching heaviness nestled low in her abdomen. He took one of her hands and kissed it, briefly sucking the tip of one finger into his moist mouth. “I showed you mine, angel. Now it’s your turn.” His expression dared her, tempted her. They were standing in front of the open doorway facing the street, which made his words seem all the more risqué. Exciting. Holding his gaze with hers, she tugged her T‐shirt over her head and tossed it away. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough, then he stepped toward her and slid her bra straps down the curve of her shoulders. She unhooked the back, and the cups slid down, revealing her breasts. He caressed her flesh with calloused fingers, plumping the tips before lowering his mouth to suck one of the rosy peaks into his mouth. Chill bumps broke out all over her body, and she shivered. With a

40


trembling hand, she held him to her as his flicking tongue sent hot vibration thrumming through her. “Drake…” she said on a sigh, and he gripped her hips, pulling her up tight against him, so his erection throbbed against her belly. “Mate with me,” he rumbled. “I promise I can make it good for you.” She didn’t doubt that in the least. Just the words were enough to send her body up in flames. Offering him no protest, she ran her fingers up into his hair and tugged, forcing his mouth back to meet hers. With a growl from low in his chest, he grabbed her buttocks, and shuffled her away from the door until the backs of her legs bumped the edge of the sofa. His fingers went to the waist band of her jeans, making quick work of the button fly. He tugged her jeans from her hips, jerking them to her knees so hard and fast her panties went with them. His eyes went hot, darkened by passion, as he took in the view of her exposed body. His gaze traveling over her to the shaved mound of her pussy felt like a physical touch. Her breath came so fast now she practically panted. He pushed her to the couch, gripped the legs of her jeans, and tugged them away. While she kicked off her panties, he pulled off his boots. They thudded heavily on the hardwood floor as they dropped, and then he came back to her, knelt in front of her as she sat on the couch, and consumed her with kisses. She ran her hands over him, exploring him, memorizing. Loving his warmth and strength, the feel of his rippling muscles beneath her fingertips. When he finally pulled back from her, his expression had gone taut and dangerous. For the first time since she’d met him, she could believe a wolf lurked just beneath his surface. The idea of it thrilled her, sent sparking sensation scraping through her veins. Drake locked his gaze on hers as he traced his fingertips through her wetness, the scent of her arousal clouding on the air. A clean, sweet‐ smelling spice designed to drive him mad. With a calloused finger, he slipped deep inside her, stroked her clutching insides, feeling her dewy moisture gather at her opening.

41


He wanted her hot, ready for fucking. He added a second finger, pumped them in and out slowly, honed in on the ragged sound of her breathing while watching the expressions of ecstasy play across her face. “Mmm…” she moaned, and he could feel the hot tension straining her body. “Drake…” She ground against his hand, fucking his fingers, her juices slicking his palm. He reached out and palmed her breast with his other hand, and felt her heart thumping wildly in her chest when he traced his thumb over her erect nipple. “I dreamed this,” she whispered breathlessly. “What did you dream, baby?” “You.” She licked her lips. “You came to me. I was naked and—” “Tell me.” “In the woods. I saw you. You were masturbating for me. Teasing me. You knew I…wanted you, but...” She shook her head. “I…I found you, begged you to fuck me.” “Did I?” He swirled his finger inside her, his thumb tracing circles around her clit. “Did I fuck you, baby?” “N‐no…” She shook her head, gasping when he leaned forward and traced his tongue along her slit and sucked at her dewy, inner petals. “Y‐you only wanted to tease me, I think.” She slowly lifted her eyelids, as if they were weighted, and looked deeply into his eyes. “I was alone when I came.” Desire coiled tight in his gut. Her admission startled him, had his imagination working overtime. Visions of his angel masturbating while fantasizing about him shot fire through his body, made his cock so stiff and ready he ached. He rewarded her for her confession, focusing on his ministrations, stroking deep inside her with his fingers while he lapped at her, slowly sucking her clit. When Libby came, she went off like a rocket, nearly bucking off the sofa. Hot cream drenched his fingers as she shuddered, her clutching muscles and keening cries nearly pushing him over the edge. “Jesus, Libby,” he rasped as he pulled his fingers from her body.

42


“That was so fucking hot.” When he stood up and began unbuckling his belt, she watched him with glittering eyes, her gaze fixed on his skin. “Let me help you with that,” she offered, her voice silky, and he lowered his hands, allowing her take the lead. She worked the button free and slid the zipper down, kissing the patch of skin she revealed when she folded open the fly. He helped her shove his jeans down his legs. When he stood naked before her, she took his shaft in her hand and welcomed the head of his cock with a deliciously agonizing twirl of her tongue. Every muscle in his body pulled taut as a wire. He was wound up from watching her get off as well as from his own aching need to find release. She stroked his shaft in her hand, laved him with her velvet tongue, the sweet tension aching in his body, ebbing and flowing, gathering higher, hotter. He hung his head in ecstasy as she took him deep into her mouth and slowly withdrew, applying a soft suction as she slid her tongue back along his shaft. His balls tightened in exquisite agony. His breath hissed out as she squeezed him, tracing the tip of her tongue over a dot of pre‐ cum moistening the eye. “Shit…you do that well.” Libby giggled then sighed, and then slipped her mouth around him, sucking him in deep, all the way to the back of her throat. He growled, breathing ragged, as he watched her suck him. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, touching her. Gently he gripped the back of her head, his trembling fingers tangling in the curtain of icy blonde silk. “Shit,” he murmured as she drew back and swirled her tongue around his sensitive, swollen head. He hung his head, his body quaking under her ministrations. He wanted to roll his head back and howl it felt so fucking good. “Stop, angel,” he gritted hoarsely, torn by the need to seek release and his desire to prolong the exquisite pleasure. “Libby, honey, that’s enough.” He knew he wasn’t going to last, knew he had to get her to a bed

43


and fast. He took her by the arm and pulled her up, her mouth slipping free of his cock with slick pop. A question glittered in her eyes until he scooped her up and carried her off through the house in search of a bed. “In there,” she said, and pushed open the first door to the right with her foot. “That’s my room.” He carried her to the bed and laid her down on the chenille spread. He pushed her thighs apart and grunted in approval at the sight of glossy pink folds slick with her need. He lovingly smoothed a calloused hand over her flat belly, and then he caught her under her knees and tugged her toward him, aiming his dick at her glistening entrance. He nearly lost it as he watched her tight, pink petals sucking him in, engulfing him in her slick warmth, but he held on, straining, lured by the promise of fucking her like he wanted to do, like he’d dreamed of doing so many nights. Once he eased past her tight opening, he plunged fully into her, hard and deep, the force of his thrusts jarring her firm, slender body on the bed. Sensation shot through him like a shower of sparks. Her small, firm breasts bounced with his thrusting motion, drawing his hungry gaze down to her, to the winged heart necklace lying skewed across her heart— the necklace he’d given her. It stared up at him, an emblem of possession. The sight of it shot through him like an electric bolt. He groaned, the sound almost pained. The way Libby watched him—her lips parted and oh, so glossy and pink. Wet. Wet lips and her glassy, lust‐filled eyes sent fire screaming through his veins. And when her hands moved up to pluck at her breasts, to try and still their bobbling movement, he gasped at the erotic image she presented. Lust exploded through him. His balls tightened, and his cock jerked—he couldn’t hold on. With a snarl, he came, great shudders wracking his body as he spurt hot cum into her, further slicking her wet, clinging insides. The sensation of her clenching muscles milked him for all he was worth. She let out a hoarse cry and grabbed at him as if for balance. Her fingers dug into his clenched buttocks as her inner muscles clamped on him, driving him far past anything he could take. He fell on her, nipping at her neck as his body trembling with aftershocks.

44


For a long moment he lay covering her, out of breath, his heart racing. He felt empty, utterly drained—and absolutely complete. When at last he pulled out of her, he knew he could never go back from this. He’d found her. His happiness. His angel turned out to be more than just a fantasy; she was his mate. In that instant, the complication of what she was seemed distant, almost non‐existent. There would never be anyone else for him. He kissed her gently and looked into her eyes. She touched his cheek with her thumb, and his heart turned over. He knew now what it meant to be lost. “Sweetheart,” he said on a sigh as he rolled onto his back and pulled her close to him. “I think we just started something serious.”

45


Chapter Six Later that night, as he lay in bed listening to the night sounds beyond the bedroom window, Drake held Libby in his arms and reflected on the events of the day. He knew he should have been more careful, taken more precautions to keep her out of the watchful eyes of his pack mates, but after the way she’d seemed interested in him at the Moonlight Run, he simply had to see her again, find out if he really had a chance. Even as he’d searched for her at the festival, he’d known he was taking a huge risk. There weren’t many females in the pack. Most of the fights that went on revolved around mating rights. Even if Libby had rejected him on the spot at the festival, any male who might’ve seen her dancing with him at the Moonlight Run, then speaking to him in public earlier in the day, might have taken those instances as a sign she was willing to take on a lupine male for a mate. The thought bugged him; wouldn’t let him rest. His actions had been careless. Hell, when he thought about it, they were downright dangerous. He’d hit the jackpot in one respect; he’d managed to maneuver her into the first stages of keeping her as a mate. But by doing so, he’d also put her at risk from the other males. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as she smoothed her hand over his chest. It felt good to hold her, to have her close to him, but he knew if he was going to have any peace of mind about leaving the house before he had a chance to set a meeting with the pack leader, he was going to have to make Libby understand just what he’d gotten her into.

46


He nuzzled her neck, kissed her shoulder, and felt her smiled against his chest. “Libby, there’s something I should tell you.” “What’s that, babe?” “It’s about my pack. It’s something important.” She was silent a moment, then she shifted in the dark to look at him. “What is it?” “It’s nothing terrible.” He touched her face. “But it’s probably going to sound a little thrown off to you. Even so, if we’re going to be together, I need you to know these things...just incase.” “In case of what? You’re not making any sense.” “I’m talking about mating, sweetheart. Marriage,” he said in a rough whisper as he reached out and tucked an icy blonde lock behind her ear. “It’s different for my kind. We don’t just pair up, fall in love, and everything is happily ever after.” He could tell by the light in her eyes that she didn’t understand. “My pack...it’s a really young pack. Cole, our Alpha male, came to me a few years ago and said he was going to go back for his female. After that, he said we would all relocate up here. Resettle. We were a small group then, only about thirty males in all. Most of us had been rogue for a while—” “Rogue?” “Lone,” he explained. “A couple of us males either were related, or rode together, but we didn’t have a leader, no one representing us or making sure we didn’t kill each other over little disputes. Most of the time if we had a beef with some guy, whether he was human or werekind, we just waylaid him. It was pretty ugly. You always had to watch your back, even from your own set of friends. “But then Cole came along. I’d known him from a long time ago, and he helped us get our shit together. He organized things, drew others in from here and there. He told us that he’d heard from his sister, Ivy—” “Ivy Holbrook?” Libby asked, surprise lacing her voice. “My god, I went to school with her. We rode the same bus. Heck, I used to trade sandwiches with her at lunchtime. I didn’t know she’s a werewolf.”

47


Drake smiled. “Not a lycanthrope, baby. She’s a born werekind, like me. Like her brother, too, who is head of the pack here in Silver. After Ivy’s mate died, that left her as the Alpha bitch of the pack here. But because there was no Alpha male anymore, the dominant males began fighting, killing each other off and pretty much doing whatever they could either get away with, or do to try and get in with Ivy. “See, a lot of the males wanted to force her to take a new mate, someone among a set group of males they thought could rein in the pack. To save herself from being forced to take a new mate, she called her brother to come in and take over.” “Oh, I bet that went over well,” Libby said with a smirk. “Yeah, like a lead balloon. The day Cole arrived in town, Ivy called a meeting between Cole’s pack, which included me and the others who’d banded with him, and everyone belonging to the local pack in Silver. “In front of the pack council and the rest of us, she named her brother the successor to her dead mate, and in the next breath stepped down as the Alpha female.” “I can see why,” Libby said softly. “Yeah, but her decision pissed off a lot of males that already lived here, especially the ones who were on the council. Most of those guys felt that one of them should have rightfully been made Alpha, that Ivy should’ve been forced to choose one of them as her mate. When Cole accepted the succession of power, it royally screwed up their plans. If it hadn’t been for the rest of us who came in to join the pack along with him, I imagine he would’ve met with a freak accident out in the woods.” “I bet,” Libby agreed with a nod. “Although things have settled down some, it’s still not smooth here. Everywhere you turn, pack politics are at play. At lot of the local boys still hate us for coming into their turf. What you have to understand is just how few female werekind there are. When our packs united, it started a shit storm of controversy over who should have the right to claim the females. Those of us, like me, who had recently come into the pack—the locals don’t like us coming in, claiming mates. There have been a lot of dominant territorial issues going on about that since we arrived.

48


Mating challenges have been popping up left and right.” Libby shook her head. “But how does all this apply to me? I’m not a…a werekind.” “That’s right,” he said and kissed her softly. “That’s why it’s even more dangerous for you. There are some lupines that are against us mixing with humans at all. On the other hand, there are those that feel since there are so few females, that if there’s a human female that is willing to take a werekind as a mate, she should be treated as a werekind female.” Libby grew quiet a moment, then shoved her hair out of her face. “I—I’m not sure I understand what that means.” “It means, if someone finds out that you’re one of the females who came into the Moonlight Run, and that we’re together now, someone could challenge me.” “Challenge you?” She leaned up on her elbow and looked at him through the moonlit darkness. “What the heck is that?” “Well, since the council hasn’t declared us as mates, if another male wants a chance to be with you, he could come to me or go before the council and stake his own claim on you.” “Are you serious?” Her voice rang with disbelief. “If it’s a challenge, then, as you say, how does the council decide who gets the girl?” “They don’t,” he said and kissed her shoulder. “If a challenge is made, we fight for the right to take the female as our mate. Sometimes there is more than one challenger. The council merely oversees the fight to make sure it’s fair; to see who wins.” Libby gaped at him. “Like I said, angel, being with me, you need to know these things. I’m not saying I will ever be challenged, I only mention it to you because it’s best you know how these things work.” “You’re telling me that if you got in a fight over me and lost, some…strange guy can take me away from you?” She snorted. “Drake, they can’t make me accept just anyone from your pack.” “Shh…” He pulled her back down to lay against his chest. “I’m

49


going to go to Cole and have a talk with him about the two of us. If he knows our status, and the council agrees that we’re okay to see one another, he can make it so no one can challenge me, and you won’t have to worry about any of that.” “Really?” She sounded hopeful. “I should’ve been more careful when I approached you at the festival,” he said thoughtfully as he smoothed his hand along her arm. “I think from now on, at least until I can arrange to speak to Cole, we need to be very careful going out in public together. It will be just for a little.” “Better safe than sorry,” she said, and Drake took a deep breath in relief. “I didn’t want you to think I was hiding you for other reasons.” He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed it. “There would be no saving me if anything happened to you.”

50


Chapter Seven “Hey, woman, are you going to get up so you can kiss me goodbye?” “Goodbye?” Libby rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock. “Come back to bed. It’s not even eight yet.” She pulled the covers over her head, but she could still hear Drake shuffling around. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she could tell he was pulling on his boots. She peeked at him. “Where are you going, anyway?” “Where I should have gone yesterday—to work.” She frowned and thought about that a minute, then threw back the covers. “Aw, man, don’t tell me it’s Monday already!” Drake chuckled. “Honey, this is Tuesday.” “Are you serious?” “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I run my own shop.” Sighing heavily, Libby sat up and glimpsed herself in the dresser mirror—her normally sleek hair looked like a blonde rat’s nest. Running down a mental list of things she had to do, she counted off at least a dozen calls she had to make before lunch, in addition to the usual paperwork she had to sort through. As she reached for her hair brush and tried to arrange everything she had to do into a reasonable plan in her mind, she muttered to herself, “How could this happen? How could I miss an entire day?” “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Drake suggested. When she looked at him in the mirror, he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

51


A slow grin spread across her face. While Drake looked around the house for his jacket and his keys, she searched beside of the bed and found the pair of jeans she’d worn the day before. She slipped them over her hips, tucked in her emerald‐green sleep camisole, and buttoned the fly. “Now that’s a look,” Drake said as he came back into the bedroom wearing his black leather jacket. He flicked aside a skinny strap of her camisole and kissed her bare shoulder. “I’m about to go.” His cell phone rang, and he fished in a pocket of his jacket for it, then flipped it open. “Hey, what’s up?” He ran a hand through his long, golden hair. “I had my phone off, why? No, I’m not at my place.” He winked at Libby and walked out of the room. “Yeah, I’m coming in today. So what’s all this about…” Libby fell back onto the bed and tucked her hands behind her head. Closing her eyes, she lay there a moment and sighed. What a wonderful weekend—and Monday. She snickered about that. She opened her eyes a fraction and glanced toward the window. Tuesday seemed to have promise as well. The leaves rustled on the trees, and mottled sunlight danced through the branches. She shifted on the bed, stretched her leg out, and rested her toes in a patch of sunlight on the window sill. It was going to be a bright day—sunny. Birds twittered, and she could hear a lawnmower going somewhere in the neighborhood. Drake came back into the room, and she rolled over onto her stomach and rested her hand on her chin. An amused light twinkled in his eyes when he saw her. “That was my cousin, Chase, on the phone.” “Is everything okay?” “He wanted to know if I was coming in today.” He gestured for her to come with him, and Libby got up and came around the bed. She followed him into the kitchen—where he’d apparently left his coffee cup. “He also gave me a heads‐up on some pack politics.” “Oh?” she waited for him to go on, wondering if maybe she had something to do with those pack politics, but he just shook his head. He drained the last of his coffee and set the cup in the sink. She watched him

52


hook his chain wallet to his belt loops, wondering what encompassed pack politics, aware for the first time that she didn’t really know the first thing about his kind or their culture. She worried there might be some pressing problem that revolved around him spending time with her, but if that was indeed what his cousin had mentioned to him, wouldn’t he let her in on it? “Baby, I’ve really got to go,” he said, and together they walked through the house to the living room. Once she unlocked both the main door and the screen, he turned her to him and pulled her into his arms. He brushed back her hair with his knuckles and kissed her forehead, her lips, the tip of her nose… “Listen. I have a few bikes to catch up on at the garage, so I might have to stay late. I’ll be back tonight, though. That’s, of course, if you don’t mind.” Her smile brightened; she felt it beaming inside and out. She stood up on her tiptoes, leaned into him, and put her arms around his neck. “Now why would I mind that?” Once Drake’s Harley rumbled to life, and he pulled out of her driveway onto the street, she latched the screen door and padded back through the empty house. She was tempted to put everything aside and do a quick cleaning of the house—make the bed, drop the laundry in, and run a broom over the floor—everything she’d put off over the weekend, but she knew the chores would still be there after she processed all her paperwork. As much as she hated it, she still had work orders from Friday afternoon to catch up on. Although she had the luxury of working from home, her job required she process a certain number of work orders per week in order to receive a check. After missing Monday’s orders entirely, she needed to get started as early as possible on her paperwork if she had any chance of making up for lost time. She went into the tiny back bedroom that served as her home office and fired up her laptop, brought up her spreadsheets, then went to the kitchen to find something to eat before settling down to business.

53


The minute she glanced in the refrigerator, she remembered she hadn’t bought groceries. “Crap. No milk, no muffins…” She let the door fall shut and rifled through the cabinets, which were all shamefully bare. All she found was a box of bran flakes, but was reluctant to eat any because, for the life of her, she couldn’t recall how long the box had actually been sitting in there. “Well, this is the pits,” she grouched to no one, then peered over at the coffee pot and thought, Doughnuts. Yeah. Because woman can’t live on coffee alone. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she snatched her keys out of the little basket beside the microwave. On her way through the living room, she picked up her tote bag and slipped on a pair of flip flops. If she got up to the grocery store early enough, it was possible she’d still be able to get her pick of the few fresh doughnuts at the deli. While she was there, she could also look into picking up a few steaks for Drake in case he spent the week with her. Harper’s Market was only a few blocks over from her house; she could be in and out in a flash. Ever since she’d returned to Silver, she’d been shopping at Harper’s Market. She didn’t know the owner extremely well, but she knew before her grandfather had died, Errol Harper had been one of his long‐time fishing buddies. The store was smaller than one of the chain grocery stores in town and was a shade more expensive on some things, but she had fond memories of shopping there with her grandfather. When Libby pulled up in front of the market and killed the Jeep, it was early still. The sun barely peeked over the top of the faded, red storefront, and the parking lot sat mostly empty. A small smile flirted at the corners of her mouth as she tugged her bag over her shoulder and folded her sunglasses. Despite all the work she had to do, her weekend with Drake had given her a revitalizing internal glow. She couldn’t deny her own good mood. The automatic doors whooshed open for her, and she crossed the red mat of carpet into the store. The second the doors closed behind her, her stomach rumbled. How the heck they did it, she’d never know, but the

54


whole store smelled like fresh‐baked bread. She bypassed the shopping carts and went straight past the rack of flower bouquets in the direction of the deli. “Good morning, Libby,” she heard someone say, and looked up to see a young man in a white shirt and red work apron running a mop over the floor. “Oh, hi, Ben.” She didn’t know Ben Traylor very well, but she’d gone to high school with his older brother, Jeff. She smiled at him and continued past the dairy cases. The sight of Mr. Harper in his red‐and‐white striped apron sliding the metal trays full of fresh‐baked goodies into the display case felt comfortable and familiar. She approached the deli stand and smiled up at him. “Good morning, Mr. Harper.” Flicking her bangs out of her eyes, she glanced over the cookies, éclairs, and turnovers, at last finding what she was looking for. She pointed at the tray of doughnuts. “Could I get six of the raspberry filled, and six of the chocolate glaze, please?” Mr. Harper shut the case and wiped his hands on a towel. “We don’t serve your kind here.” His hard tone startled her. Her gaze jumped to his face, her smile fading when she saw his narrowed eyes and angry expression. Confused, her face burning with embarrassment, she glanced around to see if any other shoppers had heard him—understood him where she hadn’t— because it seemed impossible that she could’ve heard him right. “I, um, you don’t…?” “Are you deaf?” the old man snapped at her across the counter. “I said we don’t serve your kind here!” Dumbstruck, her lips parted to say something, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single word. She glanced down at herself, thinking he must mean he didn’t serve people wearing pajama shirts in the store. It was the only thing that made sense. Mortified, she quickly tried to explain. “Oh, right. Well, you see, this is—” she touched her camisole which concealed her perfectly. She shook her head. “I… W‐What are you talking

55


about?” “You know damn well what I’m talking about.” The hateful gleam in the old man’s eyes alarmed her as he leaned across the counter. She swallowed hard and took a step back. Never had anyone looked at her with such contempt. “You’re one of them.” He grimaced. “I saw you.” He pointed a wavering finger at her. “You were with one of those…those…bastard mutts at the festival—damn biker trash ruining our town. Werewolf abominations! You think I don’t know what you are?” he snapped at her. “I serve humans only. Get the hell out of my store, missy. And don’t come back!” Without another word, she turned on her heel and got the hell out of there. She passed Ben and avoided looking his direction. By the time she exited the store and crossed the tiny parking lot to her Jeep, her hands shook and her insides quivered, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. She didn’t even know what to think. Her whole body was numb, her face hot. The old man had shocked her; scared the living hell out of her. If he felt that way…who else would? Who else in the store had heard their exchange? Glancing nervously around the parking lot, she wondered how many other people in town felt the same way Errol Harper did. Since grade school she’d known about the friction between werewolves and humans—those that knew about the shape‐shifters, anyway—but until now she’d never actually witnessed any of it, had never experienced it firsthand. Suddenly she felt very alone. To have that kind of hate pointed in her direction was bewildering—frightening. What about Drake? Did he go through this sort of thing very often? How did he deal with it? She had no way of knowing, and she had no intention of asking him. The confrontation with Mr. Harper was bad enough in itself. If she asked him how he dealt with similar instances in the town, Drake would want to know what brought on her question. She would have no choice but to tell him everything, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted him to know about what had happened in the store—not just yet. Their

56


relationship was still very new, and the last thing she wanted was to scare him off. Knees shaking, she climbed into her Jeep and took a deep, tremulous breath. She slid the key into the ignition, but it was several more minutes before she felt steady enough to actually drive. * * * * * When the same black ’65 Mustang roared past the Silver Cycle Shop for what had to be the third time inside an hour, Drake saw his brother, Blaze, wipe his hands on one of the red shop rags. “How many times do you think Numb Nuts is going to drive around the block today?” asked Blaze as he walked to the open mouth of the garage bay. “Who’s Numb Nuts?” Drake asked Chase. “Roark Fallon. He’s been driving past here every few hours since Saturday afternoon.” Drake narrowed his eyes as dread gathered like a stone in his chest. The ratchet landed with a clang on top of the tool chest as he set it down. Leaving Chase to finish breaking down the engine, he swiped at the perspiration dotting his face and went to stand with Blaze. “Any reason why that asshole would be stalking my shop?” “Yeah, I can think of a reason,” Blaze said with a smirk. “It has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice ass.” Chase chuckled while he sifted through the tool chest. “Everyone knows you’ve been staying with her, Drake. The day after the bar brawl you were spotted holding hands with your dream girl in the town square, and then you skipped work. Come on, you can’t be surprised if everyone figured out your little secret. It’s not like you were exactly keeping it covert.” Drake gritted his teeth. “Sounds like far too many people are taking an interest in my business all of a sudden.” “It’s not me and Blaze knowing your business that you should be worried about,” Chase said. “Why a guy like Roark would be interested,

57


though, is another matter entirely.” Drake cursed under his breath. “You think he means to challenge me? And here I was, thinking the jerk had a thing for redheads.” “Maybe he does.” Blaze’s grin was wicked. “Unless, of course, the redhead he hit on turned out to be a complete cunt.” “So what’s your angel’s name anyway? You planning to bring her out to meet all of us any day soon?” Drake sighed, went back to where Chase was working, and picked up his tools to help. “Her name is Libby French, and no, for the record, I’m not planning to bring her out for introductions any time soon.” The phone rang, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Blaze sidling toward the office to answer it. “For one thing,” he told Chase, “I promised her I’d talk to Cole first. See about getting him to grant us a pre‐mated status, sort of like what he did for Mitchell Draven when he announced he was taking a human mate.” “Yeah, but you’re forgetting Mitchell’s one of the good ol’ boys, Drake. He’s got lots of friends in high places. Even if you go straight to Cole, he’s got to go through the Alpha Council. He can’t afford to by pass them. It would step on too many toes.” Drake’s brow arched. “Are you sure? Since when can’t the pack leader arrange mating alliances? No one challenged Mitch for his female.” “That’s only because he was already established in the pack. No one would challenge him for his mate; people around here respect him too much to try. I hate to say it, but we’re different, my friend. We’re the interlopers. The pack crashers coming in and stealing all their females. You know I’m right. I imagine Roark is already talking among the other males. Too many people saw what happened at the bar, and they’ve seen you in town with Miss Angel. You can’t expect that to go unnoticed.” “She is a hot item.” Drake grinned, and Chase laughed. “Yeah, well…she is that, but the main thing you gotta remember is that she’s local. With her willingness to be with you, despite knowing what you are, is going to make her a tempting target for the others. As far as males like Roark are concerned, even though she’s human, she’s

58


eligible mating material, and you’re pilfering what should rightly be one of their females.” “More bullshit politics,” Drake said with a disgusted sneer. Chase shrugged. “You’re not telling me anything, man. It was the same when I took Betsey as my mate. Total fucking chaos. Her boyfriend had recently dumped her, and still he challenged me.” “Yeah, well, I’ve been trying to reach Cole since Saturday, but he hasn’t returned my calls.” “Cole hasnʹt returned a lot of calls this week because of Laney,” Chase said. “She’s due to have her baby any day now. He’s been handling anything immediate, but you can’t blame him for not wanting to leave her side.” Drake sighed. “I guess you’re right. I thought if I could get in contact with him, I could declare her as my mate sooner rather than later. The way it looks now, I might have to wait, ask him at the pack‐wide run next weekend. Cole will have to show up there to hold the pack and settle disputes.” “That’s a long way off, man. Roark seems determined. Think you can avoid running into him that long?” He wondered that himself. “I can try. Libby has to be present for him to challenge me.” “What’s gonna stop him from showing up at her house?” Drake shrugged. “Human cops, maybe?” “Ah, could be…” Chase shook his head. “The cops around here don’t like us much as it is. Still, he keeps driving by, looking for you. I think he’s waiting for the right moment to catch you two together. Without Cole present—” “Yeah. Without Cole, he can fight as dirty as he wants.” Their eyes locked in silent agreement on that. “Hey, Drake,” Blaze called as he poked his head around the door. He held up the phone. “I think you better take this.” “Who is it?” “It’s Jeff Traylor’s little brother. From what I can tell, your girlfriend ran into a little trouble over at Harper’s.”

59


Cursing under his breath, Drake dropped what he was doing. He left Chase with the bike and started across the garage. “Is she okay?” he asked his brother as he took the phone in hand. Blaze shrugged. As Drake brought the phone up to his ear, his mouth fixed into a grim line. Now it starts…

60


Chapter Eight When Libby turned into her front yard, the first thing she saw was Cheryl’s gray sedan parked in the shade of the oak tree. Although she couldn’t immediately explain it, a feeling of dread crept over her. She compressed her lips as she took a deep breath and pulled up next to the car. She killed the engine and glanced out her window to the left. One look at her friends waiting for her on the front porch, and she instantly picked up on the wave of bad vibes. “Shit. What’s up now?” Her face hot, she gathered her tote from the passenger seat and climbed out of the jeep, very aware of three sets of eyes following her every movement. She bumped the door shut with her hip then went around to the back where she took out the two plastic bags filled with groceries. As she closed the back door and turned toward the house, she felt it in her bones... Now it starts. They stirred as she neared, and the look Angie turned on her as she started up the porch steps made her heart beat faster. She didn’t like this setup. Not at all. She knew they’d been discussing her because an unflattering pink flush clung high to Robin’s cheeks. Even Cheryl seemed subdued. As she reached the top step and came eye to eye with her friends, Angie’s mouth formed a taut little line. Libby recognized that smirk. “What’s going on?” she asked Angie directly, bypassing the others.

61


“We came over to see if it was true.” “If what’s true?” “If you’re seeing that…that dog.” “Dog?” She raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Excuse you, but they’re werekind, not dogs. And if you’re asking me whether or not I’m seeing the blond biker I danced with at the Moonlight Run, the answer is yes.” Angie made a scoffing sound and looked at Cheryl. “See, I told you so.” Cheryl gave Angie a disapproving look. “Libby, we heard a few rumors flying around about you, and we’ve been worried, that’s all—” “Yeah, worried enough to avoid my phone calls. Spare me the line.” She set her groceries inside the front door and turned back to the others. “Aside from the blind ignorance I keep running into, I can’t imagine what there is to be worried about.” “Oh, come on…” Disapproval and disgust was written all over Angie’s face. “You might as well admit what’s going on, Libby. At least three people I know of swear they’ve seen you in town with the guy. One says he’s seen that mutt leaving your house in the early hours of the morning. Is it true?” “I didn’t realize that was any of your business. Or anyone else’s for that matter.” “Fine,” Angie said in a shrill tone. “But you know what I think?” “Oh, go ahead and say it. This is your one chance, so say whatever it is you want. No, don’t look at Cheryl to get your back. It’s obvious you and Robin are just itching to tell me off, or to at least to relay something really juicy—these rumors I’m guessing? Well, let’s have it. Clear the air and get it out of your system once and for all.” “Okay.” Angie’s mouth twisted. “Robin saw everything. She told me and Cheryl what happened when she went back to the porch to see what was keeping you Friday night. She saw you making out with that guy at the bar—that werewolf. Isn’t that right, Robin? She said you two were all over each other. You didn’t even put up a fight.” “Wow, lucky her,” chided Libby. Her temper skyrocketed as she

62


glared at Robin, who immediately dodged eye contact with her. “Sounds like you got an eyeful, huh, sweetheart?” “Just tell us what’s going on, Libby,” Cheryl said with a weary sigh. “Are you really serious about this guy? Is he staying here with you now?” Angie cut in before she could even attempt an answer, “Do you realize how disgusting that is? I don’t even want to think about it if he’s been staying here—which I’m sure he has. That guy isn’t even human, Libby. He’s a dirty, shape‐shifting animal.” Frowning, she shook her head. “I know you were always the nice one—always hated to hurt someone’s feelings and all that, but, Jesus! You should’ve told him to take a hike right then and there at the bar. I mean, is this what you really want? A damn werewolf hanging around here all the time? They’re pack animals, Libby. You know that, don’t you? Let one in, and the next thing you know, half the fucking population of them will be showing up on your doorstep, tromping in and out of your house like they own the place.” Libby wasn’t sure where Angie came by her ridiculous information, but the tone in which she said it seriously pissed her off. “Who I have tromping in and out of my house is my own business, Angie.” She looked straight at Robin. “Whether it’s serious, or otherwise.” Robin looked away again, and Angie said, “Whatever.” Angie swiped a fat copper curl from her forehead in agitation and went on. “You’re making a big mistake, Libby. On some level you have to know that. At least half the people living here and in Dover know about the werewolves. You’re going to find out really quick that these folks aren’t going to accept it when you go against nature like you’re doing. We’re human, for goodness sake!” “Think of what everyone in town would say if they find out you’re shacking up with a werewolf,” Robin added, her eyes sad. “Oh, I’ve already got a pretty good idea what they’d say.” “Listen, Libby,” Cheryl said, cutting in. “I’m not trying to get you down, I only hope this… That you won’t let what Mark did to you make you jump at the first new guy who comes along.” “I agree,” Angie added. “It’s a mistake to jump into anything with

63


that guy. You’ve been on how many dates since your divorce? And aside from the obvious, you don’t really know anything about that biker guy. Nothing at all.” “That’s right,” Robin added. “For all you know, he could be dangerous.” Libby snorted. Now she’d heard enough; Robin’s comment was truly the last straw. Pivoting on her heel, she snatched open the screen door and stepped inside. “I guess it’s a good thing Drake is my mistake to make, then, isn’t it?” Without another word, she stormed into the house and slammed the front door. Like a robot, she went through the house to the kitchen. Shock sizzled through her, anger burned in her veins. Struck with disbelief, she stood at the sink, her heart pounding. It seemed unreal. Impossible that they could be that closed minded. From the moment she’d first kissed him, she’d expected some amount of backlash for seeing Drake—maybe not to the extend of what Mr. Harper had unleashed on her, but still... She hadn’t expected an attack like that to come from her best friends. Relief flooded her when she heard Cheryl’s car pulling out of the yard, but the feeling was chased by a sense of sadness and loss. She let out a deep breath, leaned her hip against the counter, and smoothed trembling hands over her hair. She glanced at the grocery bags she’d carried in. The site of them sickened her, made tears well hot behind her eyes. She’d had to drive all the way to the other side of Silver to the Harvest Market to buy food. As if getting kicked out of Harper’s hadn’t been traumatic enough, now her friends were turning on her… A lump aching in her throat, she sat down at her kitchen table as the horror of the morning culminated into one great, dark cloud. Her eyes misted over, and she rubbed at her temples. She didn’t want to cry; she didn’t want to let them beat her up like that, but it was just too much. Even with every ounce of strength fighting them back, she burst into tears.

64


Chapter Nine When Drake finally pulled up into Libby’s yard, it was well after dark. She’d closed the front door already but had left the porch light on for him, the bald bulb gleaming like a yellow beacon calling him home after a long, tiring day. He parked next to her Jeep and, when he killed the engine on his bike, he was met by the quiet of her corner lot. Crickets chirruped from every conceivable direction, and the wind chimes jangled on the porch. Across the yard at the far end of the property, the moon rose high over the trees—not quite full, but enough that he felt the magnetic pull of it on his inner beast. He took a long, deep breath as he climbed off his bike and let the moonlight recharge him while he removed his pack from the bike. After work, he’d locked up the cycle shop, and then he’d gone upstairs to his apartment for a quick shower and to gather a few of his things to bring over to her place—clothes, his toiletries, the basics. Until he got the whole mating situation cleared with Cole, he didn’t want to leave Libby alone at home any longer than he needed to. He tromped up the steps to the front porch and kicked off his boots before going inside. He didn’t bother to knock. The screen door squeaked as he pulled it back, disturbing the tiny dust‐colored moths and June bugs which clung to the door and swirled around the porch light. The house smelled like home cooking when he entered. Seared steak and mashed potatoes. His stomach rumbled, the scents washing over him, the comfort of the atmosphere soaking into him as he shed his

65


leather jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. He started toward the kitchen where he heard water running and the clink of dishes being shuffled from the cabinets. He knew his angel had had a rough day. After everything she’d been through, he wondered just how glad she’d be to see him. The minute he stepped into the kitchen and she saw him, any fear he’d had that she might shout at him, tell him to leave, was forgotten. She turned from the counter, and the minute her sad eyes made contact with his face, she burst into tears. “Drake,” she choked out and rushed over to greet him and threw herself into his arms. He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her close, drawing her in to try and comfort her with his warmth. “It’s okay, angel. I know.” She clung to him, and he rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head while she cried against him, her body shaking with the force of her tears. “Ben Traylor called the shop today,” he murmured against her hair, wishing for the life of him he could have a word with that crotchety old bastard Errol Harper. “He told me everything that happened at the market.” She looked up at him with startled eyes, her face tearstained. “H‐ he…he did?” “He’s werekind, Libby. He and his whole family. They’re just not open about it like a lot of us are these days. After today, I’m sure you can see why.” Drake pulled her head down to his chest and sighed. “It seems half the pack knows we’re together now. Half the humans in the town, too.” “Well, I don’t care who knows. You’d think it wouldn’t matter in places where money’s concerned anyway. I’ve been shopping in that grocery store since…since I was a toddler.” She sobbed, and he kissed her forehead. “My grandfather would’ve rolled over in his grave it he’d heard what Mr. Harper said to me.” Drake pushed her hair back from her face and forced her to look up at him. “Honey, I know how bad it sucks. Trust me, I do. And as much as

66


I hate to say it, if you stay with me, you can expect that sort of thing happening more and more.” “I don’t understand how people can be that ignorant,” she said and sniffled. Her eyes glitter defiantly; her breath kept catching so hard he worried she might hyperventilate. He took her hand, led her over to the sink, then took a rag out of the kitchen drawer and dampened it. “And it’s not just Mr. Harper. It’s Robin and Angie, too. Even Cheryl.” “What do you mean?” he asked as he pressed the cool cloth to her face. “Did something happen with them?” “I bet if you asked Angie what she hates about you so much, she couldn’t even tell you,” Libby went on, her voice shrill; her breath choppy and uneven. “She can say what she wants. I know I’m not making a mistake. I feel it. I always tried to do the right thing, to do what was expected of me. And where has that gotten me so far? Divorced. I married Mark—” She shook her head. “My parents liked him so much. ‘Oh, Libby, he’s such a wonderful guy; you know he’ll make you a fine husband.’ Well, he didn’t!” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “He made a sorry husband. I had to learn the hard way that people can make their opinions about who’s right for me, but only I know what can me happy.” Drake’s heart swelled with pride, with love, for her. She pulled from him, shoved at her hair, and then stirred the food on the stove. He could tell she was still upset, and he wished he knew the right thing to say that would soothe her. “I expected maybe a little…I don’t know, nose turning from a few people in town, but never like this,” she said as she concentrated on supper. “Not the damn grocery store clerks. Not my best friends.” Drake frowned. “What about your friends?” “The three girls who were at the Moonlight Run with me—I’m not sure if you remember them. They were waiting for me when I got home from shopping today.” “And what did they have to say?” Like he really had to guess… “Oh, it’s safe to say they don’t approve of you.” She tapped her

67


stirring spoon on the side of a pan before reaching for a lid. “But what’s worse than that, I know they had to have taken time off of work to come out and confront me about it. Bitches. They wouldn’t even answer my phone calls over the weekend, and then they show up at my house. “At least I know how they feel about it,” she said as she turned back to him. “I guess I just…I don’t know…I expected more from them. I thought they’d be— Well, not necessarily on board with it, but supportive at least. It’s my decision, after all. My happiness in question.” He didn’t say so, but he’d suspected as much would happen. He’d feared it from the beginning. They’d been together less than a week, and already she was running into the problems of being unmated, yet associated with the pack. On top of it all, now he faced this business with Roark... He didn’t want to push Libby too hard. They’d just begun their relationship, and he’d only had the chance to tell her some of the most basic things about the pack. He knew he was in love with her; he’d been head over heels since day one, but the last thing he wanted to do was rush things and scare her away. When he talked to her about togetherness in terms of dating—he knew that was something she could understand—he’d had a mating bond in mind for the future. But he’d thought with any luck he’d be able to date her for a while, get her accustomed to pack life, before dragging her headlong into it. But he could see now, if he planned to offer her any real protection, he’d have to claim her as his mate sooner rather than later. While Drake helped Libby set the table, his mind whorled with a seemingly unending stream of imperfect options. He wasn’t afraid of fighting for her in front of the pack, but if for whatever reason he presented her to the council and another male challenged him… He shook his head. Libby wasn’t werekind. He didn’t want to think how she would take that. How would she react if he fought for her and lost her to another male? It wasn’t as uncommon as she might think. They’d just sat down to the table to eat when Drake’s cell phone went off. Libby looked at him, and he sighed as he looked down at his hip

68


case and checked to see who would be contacting him at this hour. “Damn text message,” he muttered and flipped his phone open. He didnʹt immediately recognize the senderʹs number, but when he read the message, he knew it had to be from someone who knew him. Youʹre needed at the shop ASAP. Grumbling under his breath, he looked up at Libby. “Angel, I have to head over to the shop for a while.” She put down her fork. “Is it serious?” “It’s probably something insurance related, like a tow dragging in a wreck or something like that.” He scooted his chair back from the table. “Save a plate for me, will you? I’ll try not to take too long.” He went through the house, stopping in the living room to put on his jacket and boots, and Libby followed him. “Should I wait up for you?” she asked. “You don’t have to. It’s already late as it is.” He kissed her forehead and started out the door. “If I’m not back tonight, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” * * * * * Libby didn’t feel much like eating once Drake left. She scraped down the dishes and made a plate for Drake, which she wrapped in foil and tucked at the bottom of the fridge. She put everything into containers, washed the few dishes that remained, and swiped down the kitchen with a clean rag before stopping back by the table last thing and pushing in the chairs. She went through the motions, numb and tired to her bone. The day’s events had drained her both physically and emotionally. When she was finished with the kitchen, she flicked off the light and padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It seemed odd not having Drake there with her. For the past few days, she’d felt like a new woman—whole. Complete. She felt closer to Drake than she’d ever felt to anyone in her entire life. Her friends didn’t like him, but they couldn’t feel what she did—that underlying connection.

69


Before she’d met Drake, it was as if something had been missing from her life, but since he’d come into it, that missing piece of the puzzle seemed to have snapped into place. She slipped out of her jeans and T‐shirt and tossed them across her bedroom chair. In front of the dressing table mirror, she slipped into her favorite emerald green camisole set, the delicate fabric as cool and smooth against her skin as rose petals. After running a hairbrush through her hair, she went around the bed and shut off the light. When finally she crawled onto the bed and lay out across the covers, the bedspread felt cool, comfortable, against the bare skin of her shoulders, her legs. Instead of covering up, she folded an arm behind her head and yawned. Dragging down a pillow, she tucked it behind her head and gazed up at the ceiling fan, watched it twirl for a moment before closing her eyes. Within moments, she dozed, her thoughts drifting while some subconscious part of her remained aware of the soothing sound of the wind chimes, the crickets, and the rustling trees. The creak of the porch swing… Frowning, her hazy mind puzzling over the last sound, she opened her eyes a fraction—and saw the ominous silhouette of a man standing over her. Her heart thumped, her eyes sprang wide open, and she bucked up from the bed, her mouth poised to scream. Before she could utter a sound, a hand came down over her mouth.

70


Chapter Ten Libby screamed and screamed, but the sounds were muffled by flesh. The hand clamping down on her mouth bruised her face, brutally shoving her lips against her teeth. It took her a second to realize there was more than one person in the room with her, struggling with her. She could hear their harsh breathing and their grunts of strain. The shadows of at least three men towered over her while she struggled, attempting to wrench herself free. They wrangled with her, their hard, biting hands grabbing and bruising and pinching while they wrapped her up like a mummy in her own bedspread. Terror shot through her when they lifted her and bounced her up, carrying her from the bedroom like a rolled carpet. She shrieked and squirmed, wriggling inside the blanket which felt too snug, binding her like a too‐tight cocoon. She heard the screen door fall shut as the men carried her from the house. “I’ve got her,” someone said, his deep voice thick with urgency. The man tossed her over his shoulder with a great huff off effort, and then he was running across the yard, his shoulder jabbing into her ribcage until a red haze danced before her eyes. Blood beat in her ears like a stampede of footsteps marching in time with her pounding heart. When the man stopped suddenly, pulled her from his shoulder, and stood her upright, she almost fainted. Dizzy and disoriented, the blood rushed from her head, and little sparks of light danced in front of her eyes. “Grab her! Watch her head!”

71


The next thing Libby knew, she was being shoved into the backseat of a car. The man who’d been carrying her scrabbled in beside her, his boot connecting painfully with her shin even through the thick blanket. His breath heaving in and out, he flopped down beside her on the seat and shouted, “Drive! Drive!” The car peeled out with a loud squeal. The man leaned out and slammed the car door as they flew down the street toward god only knew where. When he turned and looked at her, she caught her first glimpse of one of her kidnappers, and her heart lodged in her throat. She recognized him. “Y‐you’re the guy that attacked Angie!” His dark, luminous eyes raked her face, reflecting an odd green in the flashes of moonlight that flickered over the window. He snarled at her, his lip curling so she caught a glimpse of sharp, white teeth. Her mind reeled, and she felt sick. The inside of the car smelled like a nauseating combination of human sweat and wet dog; the odor cloying, overwhelming. I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me. It occurred to her then that these men must’ve been lurking in the woods behind her house, plotting, waiting for the perfect moment. She imagined them text messaging Drake, then waiting for him to leave. From that point on, they’d simply waited for her to turn out the lights. * * * * * “Look at this shit,” Drake growled in frustration as he kicked through the mess someone had made of his shop. It looked as if a bomb had gone off. Tools and parts were thrown in every direction, the chests overturned, benches axed. Someone had taken the containers of oil and brake fluid from the back wall, punctured them, and threw them around the shop like baseballs. Even worse than that, someone had peeled back the door of his garage like a tin can. All this damage in less than an hour. “Fuck!” he raged, pacing while he reached for his cell and called Blaze. The moment his brother answered, he snarled into the phone, “There’s been a break‐in at the shop. Get down here.” He hung up,

72


leaving Blaze no room to smart off or to ask dumb questions. He was just about to call Chase, give him a similar message, when his phone vibrated in his hand, and he almost dropped it. He flipped it open, squelching the industrial groove ring tone, and brought it up to his ear. “Drake, here.” His heart plummeted when he heard a woman sobbing. “Drake—” Libby! He barely recognized her voice before the phone was obviously taken away from her. He could hear her pleading to someone to let her talk, as well as something like bustling noises, bodies shuffling in a confined area. “Hello? Libby, can you hear me?” “You know who this is, asshole,” said a voice over the line. “You pricks have taken enough of our females without consent.” “You touch her, Roark, and I swear to God I’ll rip you apart!” “I don’t think so,” Roark said, and Drake could imagine the sneer on his face. “I’m doing this legit. I’m taking my claim straight to Holbrook’s front door. We’ll find out just what kind of Alpha he really is. Hiding out time is over. I challenge you. If you want your bitch back, you’re going to have to come out here and fight for her.” * * * * * “Are you nuts?” Libby gaped at her captor when he hung up the phone. “You can’t challenge— Why would you? I’m not a were—kind,” she stumbled over the word. “Doesn’t matter, babydoll,” Roark said with a hint of amusement, and his friends in the front seat chuckled. She saw a flash of blue eyes in the rear view mirror, and knew the driver, for one, was getting a real kick out of her situation. She bunched all over when she glimpsed Roark reaching out for her. She squawked when he tugged down the edge of the blanket that wrapped around her shoulders, then reached toward bare skin. She cried out, flinching in anguish because she thought he planned to grab her breast. Instead, he smoothed his calloused thumb over her shoulder,

73


tracing the rosy bruise‐like marking on her skin by her clavicle. “Drake marked you,” he said, his voice thick, with an almost sensual purr, then his dark gaze leaped to her face, and his smile was feral. “He’s not allowed to do that, you know. Not without permission from the council.”

74


Chapter Eleven “How long ago did you say he call you?” Chase asked Drake when they turned onto Hill Springs Road. Drake shook his head. “About thirty minutes, I guess. I called you right after Roark hung up on me.” “And you’re sure he said he was taking her to Cole?” “I’m sure.” He sighed in frustration and raked a hand through his hair, unable to tear his gaze from the road that seemed to go on endlessly. He never remembered the drive out to Cole’s taking so long before, and he wished Chase would step on it. His heart pumped so hard he felt as if he could run faster than his friend’s truck maneuvered up the winding mountain road. If he hadn’t needed to conserve his strength, he might’ve actually tried it. “Try to relax, Drake. We’re almost there.” Chase glanced over at him, concern in his dark eyes. “Cole won’t let anything happen to Libby. You know how he is. He’ll keep things under control until you get there.” * * * * * Roark leaned up between the driver’s and passenger’s seats and pointed to a dirt patch in front of a small, rustic‐looking cabin crowded by aspens. “This is the place. Pull up over there.” Anxiety thrummed through Libby’s veins as the man she knew only as Glen pulled up in front of a falling‐down old barn. The minute

75


they were parked, the engine killed, and then the werewolf sitting in the passenger seat reached over and slammed his hand on the horn. The shrill noise made her jerk. She was a nervous wreck to start, and now that the men seemed assured of their destination, she feared what would come to her next. Too afraid to cry, she stared through the window, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her bones. Once the driver climbed out of the car, Roark pushed up the seat and climbed out. With biting fingers, he gripped her upper arm and tugged her across the back seat. She hit her head coming out and swayed, but Roark shoved her up against the side of the car—which turned out to be a dark‐colored Mustang—and stripped the blanket off of her in a sharp, angry jerk. Terrified, she stood shivering in her pajamas, feeling exposed in the thin, slinky material. “Let’s go,” he growled, gripping her upper arm. He jerked her forward toward the little cabin, tugging her so hard she nearly stumbled over her own feet. As they approached the door, one of the curtains over the front window shifted; then a light came on outside. A scant second later, the front door opened, and a man with hair black as midnight stepped out into the yard. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only jeans. A woman appeared right behind him in the doorway. Short and willowy, she had long, red hair. Judging the angle of her jutting tummy, she was heavily pregnant. “Laney, go back in the house.” Once the woman disappeared behind the front door, the dark‐ haired man searched their faces before at last shifting his attention on Roark. “What the hell is going on here?” “What the hell do you think?” Roark snapped. “Your golden boy down at the cycle shop has taken a mate.” He nodded at Libby. “Everyone in town knows it. He’s paraded her around enough—in the square at the Silver Festival. Now he’s moved in with her.” The man looked over at her, his gaze searching her as though trying to determine if what Roark said was true or not. “You don’t hold your favorites to the same rule as the rest of us,

76


Cole,” one of the other men snarled. The man Libby figured must to be Drake’s pack leader glared at him in such a way the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Cole glared at Roark. “Are you sure about this? I know Drake well, and he’s never mentioned a female to me. This is the first I’ve heard anything about it.” “Take a look for yourself.” Roark yanked her forward. “See her shoulder? He’s already marked her.” Libby swallowed past the lump in her throat as the pack leader’s gaze zeroed in on the mark on her shoulder. His eyes flickered with something akin to dread, possibly disappointment, and she knew in that instant the mark must be seriously incriminating. “I’m human,” she said in a harsh whisper, her breathing heavy, labored from trying to keep her composure. “I don’t care what you or anyone else says. I love Drake, and I will damn well see him if it’s what I want.” Cole took a deep breath and studied her face. After a moment, he turned back to Roark. “Where is Drake now?” Roark grinned, his face lit with glee as he glanced at his buddies. “Oh, he should be here any minute. * * * * * Headlights beamed across the small group of people gathered in Cole Holbrook’s front yard as Chase pulled the truck into the rutted, dirt driveway. Drake’s heart leaped. “Libby!” The cry came out like a lion’s roar when he glimpsed Libby standing among the group of males. Hackles raised, bloodlust pounding in his brain, he leaped out of the truck before Chase could get it parked and took off across the yard in her direction. “Drake, wait!” He ignored Chase and, as he neared the group waiting in the yard, the men he recognized as Roark’s crew spread out in a wide arch. Libby saw him and cried out, but his gaze zeroed in on Roark, his challenger—

77


the one who dared violate his territory, who’d taken his woman from her home. Some sane part of him remembered protocol, remembered there was more to the battle than revenge. As Roark flung Libby away from him and flared out in a roar of rage, Drake remembered what it was— “I challenge!” Libby cried out and could only watch in horror as Roark crouched and braced himself for impact, his face contorted into a frightening, feral mask as he snarled in fury. Drake collided with him, slamming to the ground with bone‐shattering force. The two males snapped with teeth and slashed with claws thick as thorns. Fists pummeled flesh as they rolled along the ground like two rabid, ravenous dogs. The adrenaline rushing through her made her dizzy. Frantic, she wailed and cried, wanting to help, wanting to be over, but not knowing what to do. “Sheee’s miiinne!” Drake snarled, his voice barely human as he pinned Roark to the ground and closed his hands around his opponent’s throat. Roark snapped up at him and raked his claws across Drake’s torso. Blood slicked the side of his leather jacket, and a thick, dark stain spread from the gashes in his T‐shirt to the hip of his jeans. Somehow Roark brought his legs up under Drake’s body and, with one power kick that cracked bones, Drake fell back in a howl of pain, landing on his back in a cloud of dust. Roark flipped over onto his knees and gagged, hand to his throat as he slobbered strings of drool. Libby screamed in mindless fury, her brain fuzzy as cotton. How dare he? How dare he hurt Drake! She wanted to hurt him. Kill him. While Drake struggled to his feet, she lunged toward Roark, her hands held out like claws. One of the males grabbed her and held her back, his grip biting into her upper arms. She shrieked, screamed, and kicked until the man who held her kicked her feet from under her, pinning her to the ground so she couldn’t interfere. Once again, Drake and Roark tangled. And she sobbed. Then, like a

78


scene out of a horror movie, Drake grabbed Roark by his shirt. In one quick motion, his jaw stretched, and his mouth opened unbelievably wide. Horror beat in her heart as he clamped down on Roark’s neck like a steel trap, the sound of ripping flesh echoing in her ears—a wet rending sound. She gasped in shock as blood splattered across her face, and Roark’s eyes popped wide open. His lips parted. His jaw worked as though he tried to speak. Drake pulled back and spit and ran his forearm across his mouth. When he grimaced in distaste, she saw his elongated teeth were grooved with blood. Roark staggered on his feet as blood poured from his mouth—from the gaping hole in his throat. His eyes glazed over. He dropped to the ground, lifeless as a sack of rocks. “Drake!” she rasped, her voice hoarse, almost gone from screaming. He hadn’t heard her. A stillness had settled over the group. He looked at the faces around him, as though waiting, expecting someone to come forward. No one did. His eyes closed briefly, his head hanging. Then slowly, he gazed up at the moon, the blue‐white light revealing that his torso and lower half of his face were bathed in blood. When at last he turned, and his eyes leveled on her, there was an odd glassiness to them. Her heart began to pound again. Something wasn’t right. She struggled against the male holding her, and the minute he let her go, she scrambled to her feet. He took no more than one step toward her before collapsing in a bloody heap. “Oh god— Drake!” She ran to him, skidded down in the dirt, and pushed back his hair, trying to see his face. Blood clung to his skin, thick like paint, like oil that wouldn’t wipe away. She struggled to access his injuries, and at first she thought he wasn’t breathing. He lay there like a limp, dead weight, his skin clammy and cold, and his body slick with perspiration and blood. “Help him!” she shouted at Chase, at Cole, mystified when neither man moved. “Don’t just stand there! Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

79


If her pleading reached them, they didn’t show it. Tears screwed up her vision as she struggled to put pressure on the worst of his wounds. How would she ever get him to a vehicle, much less get him down the mountain? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and, when she looked up, she realized Cole now stood over her. Fear blossomed in her chest. Even through her blurry tears, he made an imposing silhouette. His black hair hung in his shadowed face, blotting out any hint of human softness. He looked menacing, like a demon. Not knowing what he meant to do, she leaned protectively over Drake, guarding him with her body. “Two males battled over you here tonight,” he said in a quiet, menacing voice full of authority. “Only one has proven himself worthy to take you as his mate. One male rose to the challenge and came out the victor at the cost of another man’s life. I now ask you before the pack...” He nodded briefly toward Chase and the other males before looking back at her. “Will you accept Drake as your mate?” “Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, he’s mine. Just help him, please. Please, help. I accept him… I accept him…”

80


Chapter Twelve “When will he wake up?” Chase and Cole exchange glances with Sarah Morgan, a small, quiet brunette with eyes like big, purple pansies. She’d been introduced to Libby as the pack doctor, but so far she wasn’t too impressive. As though sensing her frustration, Chase’s mate, Betsey, clamped a hand on her shoulder and smiled sadly. “Nobody really knows for sure,” Sarah said. “His wounds look good, they’ve closed nicely. But he’s still healing inside. It’s really too soon to tell. Maybe he’ll open his eyes later on today, maybe next week. It depends on how fast he heals, and that part is strictly up to Drake.” Libby ran her hands over her hair and paced across her bedroom in frustration. She didn’t like the diagnosis, but what else could she do? Everyone from the pack doctor to her childhood physician had come through her house to look at him. After all the blood he’d lost, he now seemed to be in a state of regenerative sleep. Rubbing her temples, she sat on the edge of her sunlit windowsill and gazed over at Drake. He looked so pale, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. Had it not been for his slow, even breathing, she would’ve thought him dead. How many days now had she watched over him? How many nights had she been unable to sleep, fearing that the second she let her guard down he’d open his eyes, then drift away again? Whenever she closed her eyes, she still saw the horror of the fight;

81


the night‐black splashes of blood visible like ink in the moonlight; the horrible, defeated gleam in Drake’s eyes before he went down. Her pulse quickened just acknowledging that it happened, remembering it. She’d never been so scared in her life. After Cole Holbrook declared her before the pack as Drake’s mate, Chase and Blaze had come to her, helped her move him, helped her bring Drake back to her house—to his home. Libby remembered these events in snippets, like scattered images out of a dream. She realized now she’d been in shock and couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would’ve made it through those first few hours if it hadn’t been for the help of others. Over the past few days, her house had become Grand Central Station for a string of local shape‐shifters. Bemused, she was reminded of what Angie had said that day about the werewolves being pack animals…about them taking over her house if given the chance. It wasn’t really like that, but at times when her frustration was high, or that occasional sense of defeat and hopelessness came over her, Angie’s ill‐ informed supposition seemed right on the money. Werekind came and went from her house every few hours, bringing things, checking on Drake. Despite their vigilant efforts, there never seemed to be any change. After a while, she stopped screening the visitors at the door and instead left the house unlocked to let them come and go as they pleased so she wouldn’t have to leave Drake’s side. Exhausted, she shut her eyes and leaned back so her head rested against the window. She said nothing as she heard the others leaving the room, the men’s heavy boots tromping across her floors. When she opened her eyes again, there was only Drake and Sarah. The doctor had her black leather bag open on the edge of the bed and was packing away rolls of gauze and tape, her stethoscope, the hypodermic syringe she’d used on Drake to deliver a shot of strong antibiotics. She closed the bag with a soft snap, and Libby watched her tuck away the pen light she’d used to check Drake’s eyes into the pocket of her T pink shirt. As she started across the room to the door, outside, the first deep rumble of a motorcycle broke the silence as the men prepared to

82


leave her yard. “Libby.” Sarah stopped in the doorway, her hand resting on the jamb. “It’s a frustrating wait, I know. But Drake seems to be on the mend. If you can, you should really try to get some rest.” She rubbed a hand against her forehead and sighed. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get plenty of rest once Drake is better.” When Drake’s pack mates left, the house seemed more silent and empty than ever. Libby lingered at his side, pushed his hair back from his face, and checked his bandages one more time. Then she turned and walked from the room, leaving the door open on her way out in case he stirred. She padded to the kitchen on silent bare feet. How odd it seemed the sun should be so perfectly bright today. She opened the door to the back porch to let in the breeze and, for a minute, leaned there, resting wearily, gazing at a squirrel trying to get into one of her birdfeeders, before she sighed and went to the counter to put on some coffee. While waiting for the pot to brew, she pulled out a chair at the dining room table and sat gazing into sunny back yard. She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, letting her thoughts drift. So tired… Stress beat at her when she thought about how life had changed for her in just a couple of days. First Drake, now all these new people, the men and women from his pack… With him being out cold, unable to introduce her to the others or to guide her into pack life, she felt a bit lost with it, all this newness dumped on her at once. The pack members treated her as though they’d known her for years. They came and went from the house, bringing potluck dishes, checking on Drake, asking her if she needed anything. It took her a few days to realize that for their kind, the term mate was not symbolic. She wasn’t Drake’s girlfriend anymore. They looked at her as his wife. The idea pleased her in some ways, yet frightened her at the same time. Overwhelmed her. She imagined when she phoned her family in Florida, they would likely flip, unless Drake agreed to a proper wedding. She didn’t doubt the least little bit that she and Drake belonged

83


together. She felt it in her bones to be truth. Despite their obvious differences, she’d probably known it that first night she’d met him at the bar, at least on a subconscious level. He’d introduced himself, and a great big piece of life’s mysterious puzzle fell into place. How else did two lives come together, blend together, so suddenly, so seamlessly? The sound of a car crunching up the gravel drive cut into her thoughts. “More visitors,” she muttered on a sigh. She rose from her chair then walked through the house to the screen door, expecting to find more of Drake’s pack mates. To her surprise, it was Cheryl. She’d parked her ice‐blue sedan under the big oak in the front yard and was getting out. The car door shut with a solid thunk. Libby pushed open the creaky screen and stepped out onto the front porch, not knowing what to expect as her old friend came across the yard, car keys jingling as she dangled them from her fingers. “You’re a long way from Dover,” Libby said, her voice clipped and stern. “Yeah, I know.” Cheryl squinted in the sunlight. “But I thought we could talk.” She came to the edge of the porch and stopped, nudging the pointed toe of her black boot against a stray clump of grass. “I meant to call first, but I thought it would just be a waste of time. I… I couldn’t get Robin or Angie to come by—the whole werewolf thing…” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “What can I say? I’m sorry.” “You mean sorry they can’t accept it?” Libby folded her arms across her chest. “I’d say that’s A‐okay with me.” “No, Libby, it’s not okay. We’re supposed to be your friends.” Cheryl sat down on the front steps and, after a split second hesitation, Libby sat with her. “You’ve always been there for us,” Cheryl went on. “We’re a team. It’s not so much the guy himself I had a problem with, I just didn’t want to see you jump into something you weren’t sure about. It’s different with Robin and Angie, though, and it plain sucks to see the way they’re acting about it. But what can you do, you know?” “At least I know who my friends are,” Libby said stiffly. Cheryl shrugged, slapping her hands against her thighs for effect.

84


“It’s your life. I wanted to say that to you face‐to‐face. So your Prince Charming turned out to be a werewolf—hey, that doesn’t bother to me. Especially after what Mark did to you.” She shook her head. “You deserve to be happy, Libby, and if this Drake guy is what you want, it’s okay by me. It’s different…but I can accept that.” Libby nodded, her lower lip trembling as a big wave of relief rolled over her. She glanced out into the yard, trying to hold it together, but the scenery blurred as her eyes misted over. She didn’t intend to cry, but after everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks, once the tears welled up, there was no holding them back. Worry over Drake mingled with the relief that Cheryl wasn’t going to turn on her, and the next thing she knew, fat tears slid down her cheeks. Cheryl wrapped an arm around her, and Libby leaned her head against her best friend while she cried. She could take the fact that Robin and Angie didn’t accept her. Knowing Cheryl backed her seemed to lessen the ache of their rejection. After what felt like an embarrassingly long stretch of time, her tears subsided. “Do you feel better now?” Libby nodded, hiccupped. She then swiped at her eyes and glanced guiltily at Cheryl’s black velvet sleeve. “I think I snotted all over your blazer.” Cheryl pulled back from her and checked her jacket. She brushed her hand against the damp fabric and sighed. “Ah, well, it’s okay. I’ll just send you the bill for dry cleaning.” “Yeah, you’d do that, wouldn’t you?” Libby grinned, sniffling. Already she felt ten times better. “Seriously, I’ll come around again on Tuesday—it’s my next day off. If you can find someone to watch over that new boyfriend of yours, we’ll go do girlie stuff, okay? We can maybe…I don’t know, go to the salon, or get a massage or something like that.” Libby took a deep, calming breath, and nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”

85


“Great.” Cheryl hugged her and patted her arm. “Now, as much as I’d love to stick around and shoot the breeze, I’ve really got to go.” She laughed in her husky way. “I’m supposed to be on my lunch break. I’m only going to be—what?” She glanced at her wrist watch. “Forty minutes late getting back?” They snickered at that, then Cheryl got up and they exchanged goodbyes, hugging one more time before she trotted off across the yard to her car. Libby watched from the front steps as her friend climbed into her sedan and waved. She hung around on the porch until Cheryl drove out. Once her friend was gone, she went back into the house and closed and locked the front door. She hoped if anyone came up, they would know to leave, that she was resting. After everything that had gone on in the past week, she was tired, so very drained. It seemed an endless cycle of misfortune, one thing coming after another. She went into the bedroom and shut the door with a soft snap. The sound of the ceiling fan twirling comforted her as she stripped out of her jeans and tossed them on the corner chair. Now if only she could actually get some rest… Before she settled into her chair, however, she went to the edge of the bed and looked down at Drake. Gently, she brushed a lock of hair from his face. He never stirred. His chiseled features remained slack, shadowed by his fading bruises. She laid her hand on his chest and felt the strong beat of his heart. His breathing felt deep and regular. At any moment, she expected him to open his eyes and smile at her again. She hoped; she willed it. Every impulse in her body wanted to believe he was truly on the mend. But in those moments while she stood at his bedside, he only slept. Frowning, she leaned down and kissed his lips. “Please, Drake,” she whispered to him. “You have to be okay…”

86


Chapter Thirteen In the middle of the night, Libby awakened with a start, not sure exactly what had stirred her from sleep. Groggy, she sat up, her legs and back stiff from staying so long in the same odd position. She shifted to stretch her legs, wincing at the all‐too‐familiar pain. It served her right for falling asleep in the chair when she should have been watching over Drake. She glanced toward the bed to check on him, and her heart skittered in fear. He was gone. Moonlight streamed through her window, the broken pattern drifting across the covers, the pillows…which were empty. Alarm surged through her. She tossed back the afghan and scrambled out of the chair in a dash for the hallway. The minute she cleared the bedroom door, she glimpsed the shaft of light coming from the bathroom—the door stood wide open. Relief washed over her. She could hear the tap running full force and, when she approached, she could see Drake standing at the pedestal sink, gloriously naked, one hand bracing him against the basin. “Hey…” Shoving her hair out of her face, she leaned in the doorway. If he heard her, or noticed her standing there, he made no mention of it. In the mirror she saw his face dripping with water. He dipped his hands down again and splashed his face a second time. After that, he took a paper cup from the dispenser by the sink and held it under the tap. As soon as it was full, he drank it all down without stopping once

87


for breath. His did this twice, three times, four, leaving the faucet running full blast while he gulped down one cupful after another. Libby frowned, her heart twisting with worry. “Baby, you shouldn’t be up.” He guzzled down another drink; took a sharp breath. “I need water.” “I could’ve gotten that for you.” She stepped into the bathroom with him, watching his stern expression flicker in the medicine cabinet mirror. Her bathroom lighting made his skin look sallow, his eye weary. “Come on.” she reached for his arm. “I’ll take you back to bed.” “No,” he said without looking at her. “I need to move around.” Once again, he put the cup under the running tap. “How long have I been out?” “For eight days.” Eight of the longest days of my life…. He gazed at himself in the mirror without saying a word, then knocked back another cup of water and reached to shut off the tap. “It smells like half the pack has been through here.” “That’s because they have been. They’ve been coming by daily to check on you.” He snorted at that, dropped the cup in the sink, and turned to look at her. His golden beauty made her breath catch in her lungs. He didn’t look like a man who’d nearly died. He looked fit…and alarmingly feral. She gaped at him like a deer caught in the headlights, her every nerve ending on high alert. Whether it was the sudden heated gleam in his eyes, or the way he carried himself, danger clung to him like a second skin. Libby swallowed as her mouth went dry, and she tried not to think about just how sexy he was at that very moment, or the fact that he stood before her completely naked. But when he crowded her against the wall and inhaled deeply against her neck, she gasped, her womb clenching as secret excitement shot through her from head to foot. When he planted his hands on the wall beside her head, his lips seeking the side of her neck, his tongue laving her skin, heat curled through her body, spreading a rush of goose bumps across her arms and thighs. “Honey...” She licked her lips, trying to think of his health and not

88


the feel of his deliciously hard body pressing up against hers, or his teeth nibbling sensuously at her throat. “I…We— Y‐you’re not healed yet.” Drake grew still. “Funny you should mention that.” His warm breath tickled her hear, sending a wave of tingles through her body. “Because I feel just fine.” He stepped back from her, and Libby’s heart wrenched when she saw his expression had gone hard and cold. He turned and stormed out of the bathroom, sending a trill of dread spiraling through her. A split second too late, she realized how her words must’ve sounded. “Drake!” Nerves thrumming, her pulse erratic, she followed him through the house to the front porch. He walked to the end of it where moonlight bathed the rails and floor, and the area behind the porch swing. He leaned against the rail there, his head drooping, the moonlight washing over his muscular body. Even though his back faced her, she could see the tension gripping every muscle. It looked as though he struggled to hold something back. “Drake, I’m sorry. It’s not… I wasn’t rejecting you,” she appealed, her whispered words coming out too harsh on the quiet porch. “I worry about you is all. You…you lost a lot of blood the other day. That scared the hell out of me…” She swallowed hard. “I thought I might lose you.” He took a deep breath and, after a moment, looked over his shoulder at her. In the moonlight, his eyes glittered like black stars. They flicked over her face, reading what from her she couldn’t guess, but at last he stretched a hand toward her. She gulped nervously and took it, her trembling hand wrapping around his warm, steady one as she closed the distance between them. The instant she was close enough, he turned to her fully and pulled her into his embrace. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Softly at first, his lips tested hers, gently melding to hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth. She returned his kisses, opened to them, her tongue sliding sensually against his, welcoming him. In response, he moaned. He slid a

89


hand under her silk camisole, his hot palm traveling up her rib cage. His fingers feathered over her erect nipple, and she leaned into him, urging him to do more. She gasped when he trapped her sensitive flesh between two calloused fingers, alternately stroking and tugging her pebbled buds before cupping her fully again. His warmth soaked into her like a honey balm. The pulse between her thighs matched the rapid beat of her heart and, when his thumb smoothed around the inner curve of her breast, her stomach muscles jerked, making her breath whoosh out in anticipation. Drake made a low, aroused sound and reached for the edge of her camisole. In one quick tug, he pulled it over her head. She looked like an ethereal being come down from heaven just for him. Her blond hair tumbled down around her, the flicked out ends just brushing the tops of her shoulders. The color gleamed white as milk in the moonlight and matched her pale skin. Blood thundering through his veins, he tossed the camisole aside and pulled her to him so her small, upturned breasts pressed against his chest. He sniffed hard against her skin as he sought her mouth in primal desperation. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her—of her not accepting him. What would he have to live for then? He found her lips and kissed her roughly, drowning in sensation and her scent. He wondered if she could feel it—the beast raging inside him, just beneath the surface, driving him to force her into submission, to claim her as his mate. Her hands skated down his sides, her nails raking lightly along his skin, then roughly. He guided her backward toward the swing, while reaching for the button fly of her jean shorts. “I need you. I need you right now.” She could see the desperation clawing at him, read it in his expression. She felt wantonly exposed, a little nervous to be open to prying eyes, but she wanted to give him what it was he needed. Not sex, but some deeper connection he seemed to crave.

90


When she stood naked on the porch, he gripped her hips and guided her to sit on the slatted swing. She ran her hands through his long hair, sighing as he kissed his way up her calf, her thigh, nipping and tracing his tongue along her skin. Each touch made her skin tingle, her desire climb. He lapped at her folds and curled his arms around her thighs so he could draw her deeper. The swing swayed as she ground against him, the chains creaking in the quiet of the night. Slowly he rose over her, gripped his shaft, and drove into her. He fucked her with rough, fast strokes, every thrust driving her closer to completion. The swing cried in protest, and their panting breaths matched the brutal, frenetic lovemaking. He nuzzled her neck, nipping, sucking at the curve of her throat, wringing cries from her as her pussy responded to every sharp plunge, every nibble and scrape of his teeth. “Do you, Libby? Do you accept me?” The worried gleam in his eyes made her stomach clench. “Yes! Yes, of course I do.” She cried out as he sank his teeth into her then; a quick pain that shot her over the edge of bliss into a violent, earth‐shattering climax. Lights danced behind her eyes as he eased the sting of the bite with the swirl of his tongue. Her inner muscles jerked, clamping on him, sucking his cock further inside her. He grunted, and she felt him jerking with her; spasming, groaning as he spilled his hot seed deep inside her. She held him tight to her, needing that closeness, hoping to show him how much she loved him, and that her feelings went deeper than just physical attraction. His heart slowed, and their breathing returned to normal. After a moment, he kissed the valley between her breasts and pulled out of her. The potent fragrance of their sex wafted on the air and lingered on her skin. He eased back onto his heels on the porch in front of her. It seemed to Libby, as he gazed out into the yard, he was gathering his thoughts. She expected him to speak, to say something, anything, but he didn’t. He stared in silence across the yard. At last she reached out and touched him, and he glanced over his

91


shoulder, looking at her with a curious sadness in his expression. He took her fingers from his shoulder, kissed them, and turned away once again. The wind chimes tinkled softly, the breeze rustling their hair. He got up and moved over to the porch rail and, while he stood there, she watched his profile. She sensed something was wrong, but he was the most mysterious man she’d ever known. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind right now; she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So instead she sat in silence, watching him, waiting—for what, she didn’t know. “From the moment I saw you, something clicked. I didn’t know what it meant at first. I didn’t want to analyze it too closely.” He shook his head. “Now I know for sure...” She frowned, expecting him to go on, to explain. She sensed a deeper meaning behind those words, but he didn’t continue. Instead, after a moment, he titled his face up to the moon and closed his eyes. He rolled his head, as if working out some stressful kink in his neck. A tug of fear gripped at her stomach, even as her mind told her she shouldn’t worry. This was Drake; her lover, her champion. She rose from the swing and wrapped her arms around herself as she stood back watching him, trying to shake off her trembling. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and watched him, not knowing what, if anything, she should do. His muscles appeared to twitch under his skin, and something told her he was itching to…change. The realization startled her, but at the same time she didn’t want him to hold back. She didn’t want him to fight his nature thinking it would somehow benefit her. “If you need to go,” she told him softly, “I won’t stop you.” He looked into her eyes. “Libby, never be afraid of me.” On his way to the front steps, he touched her face, his fingers sliding from her skin. With bated breath, she gripped the porch rails and watched. Her nerves jumped when his muscles rolled, when his bones shifted beneath his skin. He stared at her, his electric blue eyes never leaving hers as they reflected in the moonlight. His skull reshaped, and

92


light‐colored fur sprouted over his body. She stared in shock, watching the formation of large paws, a tail. It happened so quickly, in only a few heart beats. And then she was no longer looking into Drake’s face as she knew it, but into the eyes of a wolf. A feeling of numbness came over her, spread through her like a buzzing current of electricity. On a mental level, she knew the wolf was Drake and that he wouldn’t harm her, but to actually wrap her mind around it, to truly grasp everything she’d just seen... Nerves twisted in her stomach when the wolf sniffed the air in her direction, then turned and loped off around her house toward the side yard where the thick tree line marked the border of her property. Just like that, he leaped through the bracken and vanished.

93


Chapter Fourteen Libby stared at the edge of her property where she’d last seen Drake, the world oddly surreal. Her lover had just turned into a wolf. She’d witnessed him lope off through a break in the trees and vanish into the wilderness. Her thoughts felt muffled, cloudy. She’d known about the werewolves all her life, but knowing they existed and seeing one transform in front of her eyes were two entirely different things. She sat heavily on the front steps and gaped at the thick stand of trees. She’d never given those woods a second thought before. Now they were dark and full of mystery; teaming with creatures she could scarcely imagine. It seemed bizarre, yet at the same time she now held a reverence for them she’d never felt before. She now knew the secret that ran wild out there and, in a way, because of her knowledge, she was as much a part of that secret as Drake. The only thing left for her to do was to sit and wait for him to return—if he returned. Never before had she understood so clearly just how different they really were. Like a ton of bricks, it finally sank in. Drake is not entirely human. As loving and caring as he seemed, she could no longer deny there existed a side to him she really didn’t know anything about. She trusted his human side implicitly. But what if, while on his run, he decided being with a human took away from what he really was.

94


A pulsing pain nagged behind her eyes, and she rubbed her temples. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She loved Drake. She knew this without a doubt. But what about him? How did he feel about her after everything they’d gone through? She’d never be able to change, to run with him. If he’d never considered that before, now that he ran in the body of the wolf, the reality of their differences must have dawned on him. Would his transformation into wolf form somehow change his feelings for her? Uncertainty tortured her. Every sound of a branch crunching or the twitter of a night bird sent her nerves jumping. The shadows in the yard played tricks on her eyes. Every few minutes she heard or saw something she thought was Drake. It took too much out of her, this waiting. At last she moved from the porch to the living room, but still it didn’t stop her from looking for him. She couldn’t help it. If only he hadn’t acted so strangely when he’d left. It probably wouldn’t bother her so much if she knew for sure what he was doing, where he’d gone, if he’d told her. But she hadn’t asked him, and now her thoughts drifted to the others like him, the others who were likely out in those woods with him this very moment. Did they all run together? Did they pair off? How did they act? The only thing she had to compare it to was the nature shows she’d seen on television. Somehow, that didn’t seem to fit. Drake was like that, yes, but…different. She worried her lower lip. What if Drake found a she‐wolf on his run? Someone he could change with and hunt with? Was it possible he might find that female more acceptable as his mate? Her heart twisted at the thought of him leaving her for another. It was almost too much to bear, so she shoved the thought from her mind. Her first instinct was to stay up, wait until dawn for him to return if she had to, but she was tired, her nerves frazzled, and she had long since run out of reasons to stay awake. Not knowing what else to do, she left the back door open and went on to bed, hoping she would be able to sleep. In her dream, the yellowy, morning sunlight felt almost overly warm on her face. She watched the ground as she walked carefully

95


through the forest bracken, stepping high over fallen limbs, clinging vines, and the brambles that kept snaring her shoelaces. Her progress into the woods was slow going, and the brilliance of the sunlight bugged her, but she kept trudging forward, her movements cautious, yet determined. Despite the less‐than‐perfect trek through the woods, her heart felt light, and a sense of calm flowed through her like a warm current. She didn’t know why she walked in the woods exactly, only that she had to push deeper. Someone, or something, exciting waited for her there. If only she could remember what… Up ahead on the path was a huge, fallen log. There would be no way over it, so right before she came to it, she found a different trail and took it. It led off to her right, off the path that had somehow seemed familiar. In this new territory, midway down the trail, an outcropping of orange rock rose up seemingly from no where. The trees stood back from it, and the fringes of tall sorrel grass that created a patchy meadow around it swayed as a breeze swept through. She looked around and knew she’d come to the right place. She kicked off her shoes and edged up onto the boulder, situating herself as comfortably as possible. The rock radiated warmth and felt surprisingly soft against her back. She laid back on it, and the sunlight draped across her naked body like a blanket. She squinted up at the sky for a moment, at the puffy white clouds, and then crossed an arm over her eyes to shade them from the sun. After a few moments, she came suddenly, instantly awake, her skin prickling in excitement. Evidence of her own lust slicked her inner thighs. She hadn’t realized she had dozed off, but now all her senses were on high alert. Someone approached her from the east. She could hear them moving through the bracken, the undergrowth shuffling with the brisk, loping steps. Every whispering movement over the leaves built anticipation in her bones. She could almost feel the nearness of the other. Was this her surprise then? Was this what she’d been waiting for all this time? A smile started inside her, but she restrained herself very careful, not wanting to let it show just yet. She remained very still,

96


pretending to be asleep. At long last, the sound of footsteps slowed as they grew closer. She waited with bated breath until she felt one side of the rock dip, like a weight had suddenly settled there. Her womb clenched as the weight shifted, stirring beside her— Libby jerked awake and squinted in the blinding brilliance of her bedroom. She’d left her curtains open, and great beams of yellowy sunlight fell through her windows, right across her face. Groggy still, and restless from the dream, she brought a hand up to shield her eyes, and that was when she saw him. Golden and breathtakingly handsome, he sat naked at the foot of her bed. When she looked at him, her heart turned over. As if he’d sensed it, or perhaps he’d read it on her face, he quirked a smile at her and laid his hand on her leg. “Good morning, beautiful.” His deep voice sent a spike of pure joy darting through her soul. The last vestiges of sleep fell away as her heart leaped to her throat in excitement. “Drake.” She struggled to sit up. “You’re home.” In one fluid movement that seemed spurred by her happiness to see him, he jerked back the covers and covered her body with his. He pinned her with his weight, and a million emotions swirled through her, leaving her on the brink of tears. She pushed them back, too moved by the moment to want to do anything other than hold him tight. She kissed his chin, his lips. His skin felt cool and lightly damp, and she guessed he’d been home for a while—at least long enough to have taken a shower. Even so, he still smelled like a sweet blend of mountain air, forest soil, and green growing things. To Libby, it represented yet another unique part of him. “You’re here,” she whimpered as she pushed back his damp hair and smoothed across his shoulders, down his back. “You’re really here.” Her chin quivered as the tears she’d fought back gathered in her eyes. “Did you truly doubt it?” he asked right before he lowered his head to kiss the curve of her neck. “I was so worried, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I

97


just worried you wouldn’t come back to me.” He pulled back and looked at her, his dark blue eyes chastising her. “You really thought I’d leave my mate? After everything we’ve been through?” Heat flared in her face. “I just… The way you left—” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “Libby, honey, I’ll always come back. I’m not going anywhere without my angel. There’s no one else for me.” He pushed her hair back from her cheek and sealed his promise with a kiss. Her heart full of love for him, she sighed as his lips teased hers, urging her to open to him. She did, and his tongue dipped inside, sliding sensually against hers. When he palmed her breast with his a warm, calloused palm, sparkling sensation shot through her, and she moaned into his mouth. When he pulled away, his lips began a slow, torturous path down her neck. He nipped at her clavicle before laving his tongue lower to her breasts, the tips puckering in anticipation, in invitation. As his hot mouth covered a taut nipple and sucked, she shivered. He looked into her eyes with a heated glance and twirled his tongue slowly around the tight peak before trailing to the other one and repeating the process. Her inner thighs slick with dew, her insides quivered, and she raked her nails through his hair. In return, he growled low in his chest and sniffed loudly against her skin. Goose bumps spread across her skin, and she moaned. Her inner flesh clamped down, her clit throbbed. She didn’t need a werewolf to tell her she was ready to fuck; she ached for it. She could even smell her own arousal clouding the room. Hot and hard, the length of him pressed against her inner thigh like a burning brand. Knowing his body rested in just the right place sent her thoughts drifting to delicious ways she could convince him to hurry and take her. Smoothing her hands down his long back, she grasped his firm buttocks and held him still while she shifted, sliding her moist cleft along his erection.

98


He groaned and pulled back to look into her eyes, to look down between their bodies so he could watch his cock slide over her silk panties, the head jutting upward over her mound. “Damn that feels good,” he murmured. And then, to her surprise, he reached between them, grabbed the string sides of her panties, and ripped them with a single tug. The action stung slightly, but the sensation quickly faded. He tugged at the scrap of silk, and she lifted her hips, letting him pull it free from under her body. When his weight settled back over her, she reveled in the way his hard abs pressed against her softer ones, the way her breasts squashed against his chest. The head of his cock probed for entrance, and she spread her thighs wide, wiggling against him to help press him into her taut opening. He sank into her slowly, his thickness stretching her, connecting them, joining them body and soul. The need to touch him, to know he was real, alive, safe, was paramount to all things. Her heart in her throat, she ran her hands over him, nuzzling his neck as he plunged into her then slowly withdrew. Exquisite sensation arced through her as he continued to fuck her, his hands grasping her hips to thrust harder, deeper, with each desperate stroke. The pressure inside her body built to frantic, delicious heights, but she couldn’t seem to reach that peak. A sound of frustration bubbled from her choked throat—she couldn’t grind him hard enough, take him deep enough. Sensing her need, he did a crocodile roll and pulled her on top of him, her legs straddling him, his throbbing erection now a shaft to be ridden. When she titled her pelvis forward and he slipped inside of her, their eyes met with heated intensity, and they both groaned from the pleasure. She seated herself on him to the hilt, her hands pressing against the sturdy plane of his chest. His thumb found her clitoris, and he massaged her in slow circles while she rode him, ramming him so deep, he nudged her cervix. “Oh…” she moaned as the first wave rolled over her and her body

99


stiffening on his. Her insides fluttered on his hard flesh, her nipples ripening into pebbles as she moved on him faster, faster, each thrust driving her further and further until she shattered. Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage while her body spiraled into hot, shivering pleasure. Drake growled his excitement, his hands taking over her hips when her movement faltered. He flipped her onto her back and, gripping her thighs, tilted her hips up to meet his frenzied thrusts. His cock slipped in her clenching wetness, and she felt the first ripple of his orgasm brimming to the surface. His muscles clamped hard as it rolled over him, shook him. He threw his head back and snarled in satisfaction. When it was finished, they lay breathing heavily, their hearts beating hard and fast. The silence of the house came into prominence, the sounds of the birds chirruping outside and the faint tinkling of the wind chimes on the back porch. Sated and content, she snuggled against him, her gaze fixing lazily on the sunny windowsill. “I love you, Libby,” he whispered gruffly at her ear, and the words winged through her, right to her soul. Turning over onto her side, she looked into his eyes. How very blue they looked—like the calm, dark water of a lake. Everything about him felt familiar; after last night, nothing about him remained hidden. “My mate…” She smiled up at him and kissed his lips. He kissed her back, and her heart swelled with joy. With Drake, the future seemed full of promise. “I love you, too.” The End

100


Author Bio Cora Zane lives in Louisiana with her husband and two children. When she’s not doing laundry or hunting down things her children can’t seem to find, she’s at her laptop working on her latest writing project. For Cora, daydreaming is a huge part of the creative process. It’s amazing the sexy scenes she can come up with while putting away the dishes. To find out more about Cora’s books, or the author herself, visit her blog at http://corazane.blogspot.com

101

Dominant Territory

Dominant Territory

Dominant Territory

Dominant Species

Dominant Species

Territory

Territory

Dominant Species

Territory

Territory

Territory

Territory

Territory

Territory

Dominant Species

Dominant Species

Dracula dominant

Dominant Species

Dominant Species

Dracula Dominant

Dominant Species

Mech Zero- The Dominant

A Dominant for Desela

The Lonely Dominant

New Territory

Dangerous Territory

Reckless Territory

Pack Territory

Pack Territory

Dominant Territory