Second Electronic Printing April 2011, The Raven Books
First Electronic Printing January 2007
ISBN 9781452465289
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Call of the Untamed
By
Michelle M. Pillow
Call of the Untamed
Paranormal Shifter Romance
Roark O'Connell is a lycan on the prowl. For what, he's not always sure. His job within the clan keeps him moving around and boredom often sets in. It's boredom that causes him to make a bet with his brother James to hire an etiquette coach. Expecting an old schoolmarm type, he's blown away to discover the sexiest woman he's ever laid eyes on. The prim and proper Natasha might be there to tame his untamed ways, but he's just the man to fulfill her wildest, most erotic dreams.
Rating: Contains graphic sexual content, adult language, and violence.
Dedication
To the fans, thank you for your constant support.
Chapter One
Roark O’Connell scratched his ass, yawning as he bumped into one of the many boxes lining his hallway. With a growl, he kicked at the ones partially blocking his bedroom door, causing his toe to get stuck in a cardboard side. The top of the small stack tumbled to the ground. Grumbling, he jerked his foot free, then immediately sweeping it so the boxes were pushed out of his way. Thank goodness they were lightweight and not filled with books. That would have hurt.
The knock again sounded on his front door, reminding him why he was standing upright before noon. It was only his brother James, coming to make sure he got out of bed in time to meet their oldest brother, Ian, who was flying into town with his new wife, Ceana. James was staying at a local hotel. As was his duty as a brother, Roark had offered to let James stay with him, but he’d declined. The last time they’d bunked together the two of them had gotten into a fistfight that would have ended in a funeral had they been humans. It wasn’t the first time, and being that they were from a clan of natural-born lycans and were known to have high aggression levels, it wouldn’t be the last. Besides, sparring was fun and they could instantly heal any of their own wounds.
I’m coming! he yelled, opening up the telepathic link he had with his brother. The knock sounded again, a short little rap against his door. I said I’m coming. Hold your fucking horses.
Leaning against the wall, he rubbed his temples, not really hurrying to answer it. The knock sounded again. Could James not hear him? Or was he purposefully being a jerk?
“You’re early, dumbass,” Roark growled to himself, knowing James’ lycan senses would probably hear the insult. Though he was being grumpy, his brother could hardly take offense at his words.
James was eager to meet with his two brothers before he had to take off on a hunt. His target, Meghan, was a rogue lycan who had betrayed the clan when Ian didn’t choose her as a bride. He instead picked Ceana. No doubt, that was what James wanted to consult with them about before going, since their father had appointed him to take the lead on the situation.
Ian’s bride had been under a spell, which turned her into a mermaid. Ceana was a sweet woman, a little naïve for his taste, but she was perfect for Ian who had the patience to explain things like how to use a toilet and what stoplights were for. The newlyweds had been house shopping across the country. Roark personally thought it was an excuse for her to see everything she’d missed while in the water.
You shouldn’t have brought beer over last night, if you wanted me up this morning, Roark said to him. Ian and his bride will wait. It’s not like we don’t have an eternity to spend with them.
Since becoming free of the centuries-old curse that an evil sea witch had cast upon her, Ceana had developed a fear of the sea. The woman knew more about the ocean than any other human, and she was deathly afraid of it. The O’Connells couldn’t blame her for not wanting to step back into the sea. Though even she would admit the fear was unfounded since Ian’s love broke the curse and the sea witch was dead—killed by her own arrogance. Being a lycan-mated human she had Ian’s long life and health, not to mention the protection of the lycan clan.
Now Ian was bringing her into his area, looking for homes. Roark had moved to Kansas some time ago, and like he did every time he moved, he sent his brothers pictures of the area. Ceana had taken a liking to the landscape. Roark didn’t care if they moved nearby, he hardly stayed put long enough to unpack—which was obvious by all the boxes. With modern transportation, it was no longer necessary for the clan to live close together. It wasn’t like the old days when they’d have to be able to reach each other on foot in a single night, or be close enough to use telepathy. Just like with speech, the farther apart two lycans were, the harder it was to hear each other’s thoughts—though telepathy did reach a lot farther than sound.
Now there were airplanes and cellular phones. In many ways, it had been a blessing. Roark loved his family, but no one could spend an eternity with the same people day after day—well, except if it was a mate. Their father, the king of the lycan clan, had even taken to using webcams for the clan meetings. Technically, Ian was next in line, then James and finally Roark. But, since they were immortal, pending some murderous rampage, it was unlikely that he’d ever rule. Roark was fine with that. He hunted for the clan, just like James, bringing justice to rogue wolves.
Stopping in confusion, Roark looked around. No, he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. He’d moved from Kansas to somewhere else. Or did he just move to Kansas? Or did he move from one place in Kansas to another place in Kansas? It was too early and he was too hung-over to think about it. Maybe his family was right, maybe he needed to settle in one place and lay down some roots. Living out of boxes wasn’t fun. It was just that he’d never found a reason to stay in any one place too long.
“Shit,” he mumbled staring at a box that probably hadn’t been unpacked in the last five moves. Blinking and yawning, he tried to kick-start his tired mind. The knock sounded again and he trudged forward. Pulling open the door, he closed his eyes briefly to the bright light of the day and grumbled, “I said I was coming, cocksucker. Now tell me, where the hell did I move to this time? I can’t even remember for sure where I am.”
“Oh my goodness!”
Roark stiffened in surprise. That didn’t sound like James. Suddenly, he realized that James hadn’t been answering back as he swore at him through the telepathic link. They must have drunk a lot more than he’d thought the night before. It was odd that he would be this out of it.
Roark focused his eyes on the beauty before him. It sure as hell didn’t look like James either. Biting his lip, he moaned without thought, “Damn, baby.”
What a way to wake up!
A slender woman with red hair stared at him. She glanced to the side, as if looking at his house. Her hair was pulled high on her head in a bun. Slowly, as she once mo
re turned to look at him, she reached for her sunglasses and pushed them to the top of her head. Roark noted her vibrant blue eyes before letting his gaze travel down. She wore a dress suit—the charcoal gray skirt and jacket over the white silk shirt made for a very formal ensemble—and high-heeled shoes. Her legs were long and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was still dreaming. If so, he really didn’t want to wake up from this one.
No, dreams don’t include hangovers.
“Sir,” the woman said, breathing heavily as if she just now found her voice. Her cheeks were flushed and she clearly didn’t like the way he’d answered his door. Roark smiled. He could easily make that up to her.
“Mmm.” He leaned against the doorframe, putting up his arm to brace his weight.
“Sir,” she repeated. Roark’s smile widened. Her gaze rounded in mortification as her eyes traveled down. “Ah… Sir!”
Roark followed her troubled gaze. Not only had he forgotten that he was naked, he was also obviously aroused from staring at her. Grinning, and completely unapologetic, he winked at the sexy woman. “Morning wood.”
“Sir, it’s one p.m.”
“Really? Hmm, okay, it’s afternoon wood.”
“Ah.” The woman wrinkled her nose. “I’ll come back later at a more…”
His smile widened as he gave her a come-hither look. There was something about her that made him want to act the beast. Very rarely did humans have that effect on him. She must have been very special indeed to provoke his body by just the mere sight of her.
In fact, Roark never had such a strong gut reaction to a human. They were a frail people and lycans tended to avoid them as much as possible. An ancient race, the lycans were as old as the humans, growing with them from the very beginning of time, just like all supernatural races. The Church used to condemn the supernaturals as evil pagans, going so far as to hunt and kill them. Times were wilder in the early days, but so it was with all the races—mortal and supernatural. Just as humans no longer roamed the countryside pillaging and wielding swords, his people no longer wildly wielded tooth and fang. Now the lycans hid their existence from the humans. It wasn’t difficult, as they were able to smell their mortality instantly on them.
“Appropriate time,” she finished weakly. Roark blinked, instantly drawn out of his racing thoughts.
“Why? You’re here now.” Roark left the door open and turned to go back to his bedroom to find something to put on. He heard her breath catch in her throat as he purposefully flexed his ass as he walked away. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a moment.”
Cocksucker? Did he really call her a cocksucker?
Natasha Abbey stared at the naked man as he walked away from her. She held her breath in dismay. Well, at least she was pretty sure it was dismay. Whoever heard of someone greeting a person at the door in nothing but their male pride?
Never, when she woke up that morning, did Natasha expect to be welcomed by a naked man answering his front door. He was so not what she was expecting and she’d momentarily been stunned to silence. But having secretly worked with her fair share of Hollywood bad boys and rock stars, she liked to think she was used to their shocking and odd behavior.
This was supposed to be a job, just like any other job, though it was clear she had her work cut out for her. Her first task was to observe silently, make notes and then evaluate what lessons she needed to implement. Answering the door naked pretty much fell into the category of all-over etiquette makeover.
But there was another reason for her stunned silence. Never had she imagined that she would see a naked man so built and so obviously proud of his body—not to mention the fact that his cock had lifted to a towering height as soon as he looked at her. Tight muscles rippled beneath his flesh, from his perfect thighs to his taut ass, to his sculpted back and arms. Long waist-length, dark brown hair flowed in perfect waves down his back.
This is Roark O’Connell?
This is my new client?
Oh. My. Stars.
Natasha’s heart leapt in her chest, but the quickening wasn’t love at first sight so much as fiery lust at first glance. That was good, because she wasn’t necessarily looking for love. Other things came first. She had yet to figure out exactly what those other things were, but she was sure they were out there. Love had never really interested her. It seemed too clichéd, too straight out of some cheesy movie, too long a time for a woman with her extremely unique background to commit to one person. At least, that had been true up until seven years ago when she was cursed into her current form. She didn’t know the full extent of what the farfadet elders had done to her, but she could only guess that with her new human form also came human mortality. When she cut herself now, she bled and didn’t heal right away. She could catch colds, tired easily and had no powers whatsoever. Farfadets normally slipped through time with ease. All she could do was go forward at a human pace.
Leaning over, she grabbed her briefcase and slowly backed away from the opened door. She glanced up to the eave of the house, checking the address to make sure it was correct. To her horror, it was. She was at the right place.
Did she leave? Make a run from the sexy, crazy man? Or did she do her job like the professional she was? Natasha took a deep breath and lifted her chin. She was a professional. She would not let this man and his lack of manners upset her. No doubt he, out of all her other clients, was in desperate need of her services.
Still, there was that nagging feeling, a part of her old life that stirred within her at seeing him. Maybe it was the awakened desire she felt like never before. Since turning, she’d been alone. Human intimacy frightened her, as they often contributed more emotion to the act of intercourse than was actually due the situation. It’s not like she could time slip away afterward if she didn’t want to face the man or if he was bad in bed.
The second she’d seen Roark, her heartbeat accelerated and she felt helpless and weak. Natasha wasn’t a weak person.
Stepping back to the door, she hesitated before going inside. She had to step around boxes to get to the living room. The house was nice. Who was she kidding? It was more than nice, it was fabulous. But why did a man who owned a mini-mansion have boxes everywhere? Did he just move in? The memo from her office listed this as a new address, which would explain things. A few of the boxes were ripped open and clothes were draped over them onto the floor.
He’s a slob! A gorgeous, rude slob.
Natasha’s apartment might have been small, but it was immaculate. Wrinkling her nose, she saw a half-opened pizza box stuffed with used paper towels on the coffee table before an expensive flat-screen television. DVD movie boxes were strewn over the coffee table and floor, stacked on the low cabinet under the flat screen. More movies were on two bookcases along the walls. She frowned. Did the man do anything besides watch movies? Without thinking, she set down her briefcase and grabbed the box before going to find a trash can. Heels made it hard to walk through the maze of boxes and she was forced to put her arms out to the side for balance.
“Mmm, a thaisce, you’ve come to find me,” Roark said, his voice low, and suddenly thick with a soft burr of an accent. By the way he said “a thaisce” it was clearly an endearment. “I wouldn’t have put pants on if I knew you were going to change your mind and follow me back.”
Natasha gasped, shivering as Roark slipped a hand along her waist from behind. The warmth of his palm spread out over her, causing her to loosen her grip on the box. It crashed to the floor. The instant she let go of the trash, Roark swung her around and lifted her off the ground. His body pressed into hers, sending a magnificent shock down her. Grabbing her hand and lifting it to the side, he began to hum, dancing to his own song as he artfully moved her down the hall, weaving around the boxes, toward the living room. Her feet dangled off the floor. The arm around her waist held her tight to his naked chest. She was thankful that he said he wore pants, but as she felt the still very aroused press of his cock to her hip, she stiffened.
�
�Ah, Mr. O’Connell, please,” Natasha said, trying weakly to hit him with the hand that was trapped to his chest. A very large, wicked part of her wanted to let him continue. Prudence took over as she suppressed the base urge. “Put me down this instant.”
He did so, abruptly spinning her away from him in a graceful move—at least on his part. Natasha stumbled only to catch herself. Making a weak noise, she smoothed down her skirt and straightened her jacket, before patting down her hair. When she finally looked up at Roark, she stiffened. He’d gotten dressed, all right—in a pair of skin-tight, hip-riding black leather pants. A trail of hair led down his stomach to beneath the leather. By the tightness of the pants, it was pretty clear by the lack of lines that he wasn’t wearing underwear.
The man looks like a rock star. Wonderful, she thought sarcastically. I’ve been hired by a supermodel rock star with a libido hot enough to do any man proud and the cock to back it up.
Natasha took several deep breaths. Roark’s long wild hair spilled over his chest and shoulders. It matched the untamed light in his dark eyes. Taking a second look, she shivered. His eyes looked lighter than before, almost like a yellow-brown hazel. She’d been sure they were darker.
I’ve dealt with rock stars before. I just have to remain professional. When he sees he can’t shock me, he’ll stop and behave.
“So,” Roark said, teasingly. “Are you a maid for hire? Or do you just start cleaning every house you walk into?”
She blinked, slightly confused by the joke as she looked down at her business suit. Then, remembering that she’d indeed picked up the pizza box when she’d first walked in, she gave a halfhearted laugh.
It hit her that she hadn’t introduced herself. From being called a cocksucker, to seeing a gorgeous naked man open the door, to being held tight in the sexiest embrace she’d ever been a part of, she’d lost her wits.
Call of the Lycan Trilogy Bundle Page 8
