Master of Wolves (15 page)

“Forget that!” She squirmed, but despite her new powers, Jim was still bigger and stronger. He just laughed and cupped her, rolling the little peak between deliciously rough fingertips.

“Give me your arm,” she growled. “I'm going to bite the living hell out of you.”

“I don't think so.” He thrust his other hand down her jeans and caught her belly to drag her back against his erection.

“Oh, yeah!” Faith glowered over her shoulder at him. “I'm going to bite you, and then I'm going to bang your furry little brains out. You're going to be the dumbest werewolf in South Carolina.”

She grabbed his wrist in both hands, hauled it to her mouth, and bit down. The magic boiled up again, even faster than it had before. Desperately, Faith tried to block it and force it aside, but it came on too strong, fueled by the intensity of her emotions. She snarled as she felt it surge into her mouth.

“Sorry, kiddo.” There was definitely laughter in his voice. “Close, but not quite.”

He tried to pull away, but Faith had no intention of letting him. Dragging his arm forward, she shot her hip into his and let him roll.

He hit the ground with a startled woof. Faith pounced on him, jerked his head back, and bit down on the side of his neck. He yelped, more in surprise than pain, as the magic boiled up. Faith threw her will against it…

And it stopped. Seethed in her mouth for one long, trembling second.

Then seeped away.

She lifted her head and gave Jim a triumphant look. “I did it!”

“So you did.” He smiled darkly at her. A set of red indentations marked where her teeth had pressed into his skin.

“Now I get my reward.” Sitting up, she reached back and found the tab of his zipper. It slid down with a loud hiss. His erection pressed into the opening, covered with the thin white cotton of his briefs. Its bulk forced the zipper open still more.

Meeting his lazy, hungry stare, Faith reached down his briefs to find the thick satin head. A pearl of pre-cum greeted her fingers. She stroked over it, slicking the moisture across the warm shaft, which bucked in eager welcome. “Hello.”

He rolled his hips upward, lifting her body with his strength. “Hello yourself.”

She rose off him and began to slide her jeans and panties down her legs. Desire blazed up in his pale eyes as he watched her pull off every stitch.

Faith kicked her clothes away and showed her teeth. “Strip.”

He showed his own. “The lady's wish is my command.” Rolling to his feet, Jim dragged his shirt over his head. As he threw it aside, muscles rolled temptingly up and down his broad chest. The corner of his mouth kicked up in a rakish half-smile as he reached for the waistband of his jeans.

“Take it off!” She hummed a teasing bump and grind, crossing her bare legs as she leaned back on her elbows. A cool breeze blew across her nipples, teasing them to harder peaks.

He spun around like a stripper and rocked his hips teasingly. The movement made the muscle ripple in his tight backside.

Faith watched him work his snug jeans down those long, brawny legs. After kicking off his shoes, he stepped out of his pants with an artistic twitch of lean hips.

She grinned in pure admiration. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a truly outstanding ass?”

Jim pivoted smoothly to face her, revealing the long, arrogant jut of his cock. Hooding his eyes, he stroked the shaft teasingly. “Somebody may have said something about it.”

She laughed. “You're a bad, bad boy, Jim London.” She watched as he swaggered over to stand astride her bare feet. “You need to be spanked.”

He lifted both arms and raked his big hands through his hair. The movement made his chest look the width of a wall. “Think you're up to it?”

Quick as a cat, she hooked the back of one of his ankles with her foot and pulled, tumbling him backward.

With a startled yelp, Jim hit the ground on his muscular backside. Faith pounced, straddling his thighs.

He braced on his elbows and lifted a dark brow, watching her prowl her way up his thighs. “Bit violent, aren't you?”

“Us werewolves are like that.” Sliding her hands up his sleek thighs, she framed his cock between her hands and contemplated it, head cocked. “Merciless.”

“Should I be worried?”

Faith lowered her head and blew a breath along the length of the smooth shaft. “Oh, yeah. Are you?”

He rolled his hips upward, making his cock bob. “Shaking.”

“You should be.” She caught the shaft in one hand and angled it upward. “Us merciless werewolves like to eat our prey.”

“Oh, God, I hope so.” His heartfelt moan made her laugh.

Eyeing him, she put out her tongue and gave his cock a long, slow lick.

He let his head drop back and groaned.

Enjoying his reaction, she opened her mouth and took the shaft in, then suckled it teasingly. Finally, she let it escape with a soft pop. “Still scared?”

“Terrified.”

She grinned. “Good.”

Jim shivered in agonized delight as Faith proceeded to give him the blow job of his life. Her mouth felt wet and slick and impossibly delicious as she played slow, licking homage to his shaft, nibbling up and down its aching length. He could feel the orgasm gathering in his balls like a hot fist slowly tightening.

Just as he started to tell her to slow down before he came, she stopped. Dazed, he looked down his belly at her foxy face as she contemplated his hard-on. Several seconds ticked past, but she did nothing, just staring at his cock as if fascinated.

“Uh, Faith?”

“Ummm?”

“Going to do something with that?”

“Actually, I just thought I'd drive you crazy for a while.” She looked up, lids dipping over green eyes. “That teasing thing works both ways.”

He stared at her as his infuriated libido howled in outrage. “Ah, no.”

“Ah, yes.” She swirled her tongue over the tight, smooth head and smiled tauntingly.

“You do realize I'm bigger than you, right?”

“You do realize I've got your dick in my mouth?”

He watched her give him another tiny, teasing lick. It was all he could do not to beg. “You're the one that needs the spanking.”

A haughty red brow lifted. “You and what army?”

“I don't need an army. I'm an Alpha Dire Wolf. I
am
an army.” He gave her his best mock-ferocious glare.

“I'm aquiver.” Another tiny lick.

“I'm really going to enjoy giving you that spanking.”

She closed her teeth over the head of his cock, not quite biting.

“Or not.”

“Smart man.” Another lick.

“How long do you think I'm going to let you get away with that?”

“Dunno.” Lick. “I thought I'd find out.”

Jim managed to survive another set of tortuous licks before his control broke. Then, growling, he sat up, grabbed both her arms and flipped her off him and onto her belly. Before she could even squeak, he rolled between her thighs, pulled her taut little backside up, and drove his cock into her sex.

Her yelp of startled pleasure was gratifying. “Apparently—ah!—not long.”

“Nope,” he agreed, driving to his full length. “Not long at all.”

With a feline purr of pleasure, she braced her legs apart as he started shafting her, slipping in and out in long, fierce digs. With every thrust, his hips slapped against her tight little backside. He shuttered his eyelids in pleasure and fought not to come.

Jesus, he felt good in this position. His cock seemed to reach all the way to her bellybutton, teasing her slick walls every time he drove in. Faith groaned and lifted her ass, thrusting back at him so hard her breasts danced.

God, she'd loved this. Loved teasing him like this until he lost control and jumped her. After all the shit Ron had put her through, it felt good having the upper hand for once.

Though, braced on her hands and knees while he rode her like a madman, she wasn't completely sure who had what. Then again, she wasn't sure she cared either.

Pleasure coiled and tightened in her belly, straining to break free. Another hard, delicious lunge, so deep and strong she felt his balls tap between her thighs. And then another, even harder, and a low growl from behind her, deliciously wild and animal. And another, and…

She came with a long yowl of pleasure as the fire closed over her head. Behind her, he echoed the cry, his sounding distinctly triumphant.

They collapsed in the leaves in a sated pile, to watch the sun cut through the trees overhead. Two squirrels rattled through the branches, pursuing each other up and down the trunk like a couple of kids playing tag.

“You know,” Jim said. “This is really nice. I could stay like this.”

“Me too.” She paused. “Except for the killer vampire and the rogue werewolf we've got to slay.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “Except for them.”

Keith Reynolds drove
down a winding gravel road toward Celestine's reconstructed plantation house. Pines, oaks, and sweet gum trees crowded close to the narrow road, their gnarled limbs threatening in the moonlight. With every foot he drove, the knot in his gut tightened with a combination of dread and sick excitement.

Celestine was going to be pissed that they hadn't found Weston yet, and she was going to take it out on him. Reynolds wasn't sure which galled him more—that he feared her so much, or that he found her vicious attentions so seductive.

Men didn't crawl to a woman. Especially not a man who could turn into a seven-foot monster and disembowel with a swipe of his claws.

Yet nothing had ever aroused him like crawling to Celestine. The power that swirled around her fascinated him. Even the scent of rot that surrounded her when she worked her spells attracted him as much as it repelled.

Reynolds supposed it was the danger she represented that drew him. He'd always been an adrenalin junkie; it was why he'd become a cop. Every time she lashed him to that pillar in her ballroom, he never knew whether this would be the time she killed him—or he killed her. It could go either way.

He wondered sometimes if she knew how many times he'd considered ripping out her sadistic, lying heart.

Tonight might be the night she finally drove him to do it.

Every cop on the Clarkston police department had spent the day looking for Weston. But though they'd staked out her house and combed the town, she was nowhere to be found. Ayers seriously considered a press conference accusing her of police misconduct. Unfortunately, they'd need the cooperation of the Solicitor's Office for something like that, and that office's head prosecutor was female. Which meant Celestine's usual sex-based spells wouldn't work. Too, going public meant media attention and questions from the State Law Enforcement Division, which investigated police misconduct. In the end, Ayers had reluctantly discarded the idea.

None of this was going to please Celestine, who would no doubt take her rage out on Reynolds.

Ahead of his car, the woods suddenly came to an end at a rolling expanse of lawn. The crunch of gravel turned to the smooth hiss of blacktop under the Crown Vic's wheels, as Reynolds drove up the circular drive to reach the plantation house.

It shown pale in the moonlight, three stories tall, with towering Doric columns and a porch wide enough to host a cotilion. He almost expected Scarlett O'Hara to sweep out through the double doors, surrounded by adoring beaus and miles of floral skirts.

It was all far different from the snake-infested wreck he'd remembered from boyhood. Five years ago, some teenaged arsonist had reduced the plantation house to a couple of listing brick chimneys and half-standing, smoke-blackened walls.

Until Reynolds had mentioned it to Celestine. The vampire had used the magic she'd gained from killing Tony Shay to recreate it as a shimmering Southern palace. It was probably far finer than it had ever been in real life, but at times Reynolds wished she'd left it to rot decently. Somehow that would have been preferable to turning it into a perverted version of itself.

He parked the Crown Vic at the foot of the sweeping stairs. To his shame, his hand trembled when he shut off the engine—whether from fear or anticipation, he didn't know.

He really should kill her, but he knew he wouldn't.

Grim-faced, he strode up the brick stairway to the arched double doors. Without bothering to knock, he pulled them open and was greeted by the unmistakable sounds of combat. Swords clashed, as voices screamed in pain over the boom and crackle of magic. Cold fear gripped him.

Someone was attacking Celestine!

Reynolds transformed and raced toward the ballroom, his clawed feet clicking on the marble. In the doorway to the huge room, he skidded to a halt, with a mix of irritation and relief.

Celestine wore a suit of gleaming iridescent plate armor as she stood before a hole in the air—one of those dimensional gates of hers. She'd evidently managed to make it invisible on the other side, because no one there seemed to notice it.

Then again, they might be too busy to care. Armored figures battled with swords or hurled bolts of shimmering energy at each other. Judging from the familiar red and black stone, they fought in the same magical temple he and Celestine had visited before.

“What the hell is going on?” Reynolds demanded.

Celestine looked around. Her eyes were almost glowing in her excitement. “Good, you're just in time. We need to go steal Korbal's Grail.”

He relaxed fractionally. She'd planned all this after all.

Assuming they managed to pull off the theft, Celestine would be in such a good mood, not even the cops' failure to capture Weston would bother her. “Who's fighting?”

“Arthur and his knights have attacked Korbal, just as I intended. But they haven't found the grail yet.” She clenched her fists, all but dancing on her armored feet. “This is our chance!”

Reynolds felt a feral grin twist his long muzzle. “Let's go get it then.”

As she'd done before, Celestine cast another invisibility spell around them, then closed the dimensional gate and opened another.

They stepped through into a surprisingly empty corridor. They must be on one of the lower floors; Reynolds's acute werewolf hearing detected the clash and scream of battle somewhere overhead. “Where are we?” he murmured.

“My spell directed them to a point two floors above the grail chamber. It's going to take them time to find it.”

Obeying her insistent tug, he followed the invisible vampire down the marble corridor until she stopped him with a short, sharp pull.

“What do…?” he began, until a savage dig in his ribs shut him up.

The scent of magical decay rose as Celestine cast another spell, shimmering the air in front of him like a disturbed pool of water.

When the shimmer cleared, he was staring into the startled faces of ten vampire guards. They must have surrounded themselves with a cloaking spell of their own when Arthur's people attacked, but Celestine had just broken it.

Before anyone else could recover, Reynolds roared and struck out with his claws, ripping one vampire's face open from forehead to chin. The man fell with a shriek of agony, as Reynolds leaped to attack his comrades with claws and teeth.

They recovered fast and fought back with a flurry of swinging swords and magical blasts. Celestine must have dropped the invisibility shield around him as a distraction, though she herself didn't appear. Reynolds was too busy fighting for his life to care.

Five bloody moments later, somebody grabbed his shoulder with invisible hands. “Come on!” Celestine's voice screamed. “This way!”

He whirled and charged after her, ignoring the stench and sting of death spells splashing against his furred back. A gateway opened in the air, and they leaped through, Celestine hurling a last spell of her own before it closed.

Panting, bleeding, he stood in the center of the ballroom, his knees shaking from adrenalin.

Suddenly Celeste appeared in front of him as she dropped her invisibility shield. A triumphant grin stretched across her face, and her eyes gleamed.

In her hand was a heavily engraved golden cup. “Look what I've got,” she purred.

 

Jim cast a
wary glance at Faith as she worked in the kitchen cooking up a couple of thick rib eyes. Her expression was fierce with a concentration that seemed to far exceed the demands of the task.

“Okay,” he asked suspiciously, “What are you plotting?”

Faith blinked. “What?”

“That's your thinking-about-catching-bad-guys look. You've got something in mind. What?”

She gave him a look so wary, his instincts instantly howled. “Nothing you'll like.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Jim folded his arms. “Tell me anyway.”

She sighed and opened the oven, then forked the steaks onto plates. “I've been thinking about these pheromones. They're pretty powerful, right? I mean, even the Sidhe reacted to them, and they're not even human.”

“Right.” He liked this less every time she opened her mouth.

“So why don't we use them to trap Reynolds?”

“Absolutely not.”

Faith propped her fists on her hip, a stubborn expression on her pretty face. “Not so fast, think about it. Once he scents me, he's going to want to come after me.”

“Along with half the Clarkston police department, all armed with TASERs.”

“What if I was in dog form, though? What if he just smells me, and he thinks I'm alone? He's not going to want all those cops in on this if he's got sex in mind. He'll come after me all by himself. And then we could nail him.”

Jim felt his hackles raise in primitive male outrage. “He'd have to be an idiot.”

She gave him a long look. “Pheromones don't exactly encourage cool, logical thought. And Reynolds has never encountered them before, because he's never encountered a female werewolf. He's going to want to investigate. Plus, he's an arrogant bastard. He'll assume that even if it is a trap, he can turn the tables on me.”

Jim frowned. “I don't like this, Faith. It sounds like a big risk.”

“It's all a big risk. Besides, aren't you the one who said Reynolds didn't know how to fight like a werewolf?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, we need to take him out, right? We know he's on first shift, so we can be pretty sure he'll be leaving the department at 3
P.M
. We can ambush him then, but if we tried to do that in human form, we'd be ass-deep in cops. But if we did it as dogs…”

“Or better yet, if I was a wolf…” Reluctantly, Jim considered the idea. He still didn't like it, but he saw how it could work.

“Everybody would simply think it was a dog fight. I don't think even the cops would realize something else was going on until it's too late.”

Jim raked a hand through his hair as his alpha male protectiveness warred with his common sense. “All right,” he said finally. “But you can be damned sure I'm going to be right there.”

Faith gave him a warm smile. “I'm counting on it.”

 

They made love
with a hot, desperate ardor, fueled as much by fear of the future as the Burning Moon. Afterward, Jim pulled Faith into his arms and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Faith, on the other hand, lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, if all went well, she'd kill another cop. And she'd just planned out the whole thing, cooly, logically. With what a prosecutor would have described as “malice aforethought.”

True, it wasn't as if they'd be shooting Reynolds in the back. In fact, his death would probably look a lot like self-defense. But the fact was, they were setting him up.

Yet what choice did they have? Reynolds had been killing people, and would probably go right on killing people until he was stopped.

Still, Faith had the nagging feeling she'd crossed a significant line tonight. She'd stopped thinking like a cop to become what amounted to a vigilante.

And she very much feared there would be no going back.

 

Where the hell
was the Black Grail?

Blinking blood from her eyes, Guinevere hurried down the corridor, her husband and four of his knights at her back. Her right arm was numb from shoulder to elbow from a death spell she'd barely managed to block, and Arthur himself was limping. She badly wanted to peel his armor off and check the wound she could feel throbbing through their psychic Truebond, but there wasn't time.

They had to find the grail and destroy it.

The six of them had managed to break away from the mob battling in the upper floors to search for the Black Grail, but time was running out. When dawn came, they'd have to break off the search. Mageverse magic barely worked on Mortal Earth during the day, and the vampires couldn't function at all once the sun came up.

At dawn, the Magekind would have to return to the Mageverse, while their enemies retreated to whatever burrows they could create.

“Do you think we've been suckered?” Gawain asked. The Dragon Sword shimmered in his hand, light rippling up and down its enchanted length. “Maybe the Black Grail isn't here.”

“It's here,” Gwen said grimly. “I sensed it, and Llyr confirmed its presence. I doubt any spell could have fooled us both.” Still, it should have been on the floor they'd gated to. Apparently they had been diverted, which raised all kinds of uncomfortable questions.

“Hold.” Arthur threw up a mailed fist even as the knights tensed and stopped.

“Something's dead up there,” Kay said, scenting the air like a wolf.

He was right. The reek of spilled blood was obvious even to Guinevere, whose sense of smell was no better than that of a human.

Arthur nodded, his expression tense, and gently pushed her behind him with one hand. Her husband in the lead, the six of them moved up the corridor, silent as tigers in their enchanted armor. But when they rounded the corner, they found a scene even more gruesome than they'd expected.

The hallway was stacked with gutted, dismembered bodies.

“Merlin's beard,” Gawain breathed. “What the hell did that?”

Exchanging a hard look, the other knights started searching the corridor and adjoining rooms for the killer.

Gwen barely noticed as she and her husband concentrated on the bodies. They were obviously Geirolf's vampires, but they hadn't been the victims of a Magekind attack. “No sword did that,” she told Arthur quietly, pointing at a ragged, gaping wound.

He frowned, crouching over the corpse. “Looks like an animal attack. I don't understand—Geirolf's vampires are like us. They heal any wound not inflicted by a magical blade.”

Guinevere leaned over the body and sent a quick probing spell into it. An image flashed through her mind—a horrific wolflike creature lunging for her throat, knifelike teeth gleaming. It had been the last thing the vampire had seen. She shrank back in horror. “Merlin's beard!”