With Everything I Am

by Kristen Ashley

  It was comfortable, countrified, farmhouse splendor.

  Mismatched, homey furniture. A colorful wedding ring quilt on the bed. Scalloped shams on the pillows. Vibrantly colored braided rugs. A poofy dust ruffle and even poofier shades in the dormer windows which had even poofier pads on the seats.

  Her bedroom was beautiful and she adored it, more than Clear, more even than Christmas.

  Because it reminded her of home.

  Not the elegant townhome she shared with her socialite mother and United States Senator father in DC when her father was at work. Or their gracious, rambling home in that very city.

  Their real home.

  The cabin in the mountains.

  She glanced around her room and saw, amongst her plethora of toss pillows in the middle of the bed, her wolf. Like her Christmas lights did, every night, all year long, the sight of her wolf made her smile.

  Her father had it made for her and given it to her the first Christmas she could remember.

  She was two.

  And she slept with it every night since she was two.

  It was a stuffed animal the exact replica of her wolf, the one who had, very unfortunately, died the same night as her parents.

  She’d known it was her wolf the minute she’d seen him (she did have a stuffed animal to prove this fact).

  And she’d loved him with an inexplicable and unfathomable depth from the moment her eyes fell upon him.

  Even though he’d died, he’d never left her, not once, not in all these years.

  She knew this because he came to her in her dreams.

  She turned her head and saw in the corner her Christmas tree. It was smaller and not perfectly decorated. The multi-colored lights were wonky because she put them on. The decorations didn’t match because they came from her mother and father’s belongings of which she had practically nothing. This was because Gregor had sold them, given them away or tossed them out with a thoroughness that was astonishing. Therefore, she truly had nothing but those decorations. They were the decorations her parents bought during their marriage, were given by friends or had taken from their childhood homes. They were the decorations that hung on the tree in their beloved cabin, long since destroyed in a forest fire (yet another precious thing Sonia had lost).

  Over the years, because she figured her parents would want her to do so, Sonia had added sweet but mismatched decorations that she’d found and fallen in love with. All of which were far from perfect but definitely perfect on her tree.

  It was this tree she sat beside alone every Christmas morning and opened the presents friends and neighbors had given her.

  This was her real tree.

  She turned on the lights of the tree and the one by her bed. She carefully moisturized her face (so as not to destroy her manicure) and lay on the covers (so as not to destroy her pedicure) and read until her nails were dry and she was sleepy.

  She then, as she did every night without fail, rubbed lotion into her feet then a different lotion on her hands and finally almond oil into her cuticles.

  She turned out the bedside light. Her gaze went to her little Christmas tree and again, this time with a deep contentment, Sonia sighed.

  This was her absolute, most favorite time of year.

  Because every night, from the day after Thanksgiving until the day after New Years, she’d sleep in a room bathed in Christmas lights.

  And she’d remember a time, long ago, when she was loved.

  * * * * *

  She opened her eyes and saw her “puppy” standing by her bed.

  In her dreams since the night her parents died, she’d see him standing beside her bed, staring at her with his intelligent tawny eyes. But she knew in her heart he was there to look after her, to keep her company, to keep her safe, to protect her.

  Not every night (regrettably) but most nights after her parents died.

  Over the years these nights came fewer then fewer, until now he only came a few times a year.

  But always, one of those times was around Christmas.

  “Hello puppy,” she whispered in her dream.

  He sat, so huge was her puppy and he appeared somehow regal.

  She grinned at him.

  He watched her.

  “Is my handsome wolf coming tonight?” she asked.

  Her “handsome wolf” had started coming later, years later, when she was in her late teens.

  He was an entirely different kind of dream.

  She hated to admit it because she loved her puppy, but she liked those dreams even better.

  Her puppy growled.

  Sonia blinked, slowly, dreamily.

  When her eyes opened, her handsome wolf was there, she felt him.

  The covers slid down her body, she turned, looked up and saw him.

  God, he was handsome.

  And he was huge.

  His naked body slid in bed beside her, mostly on her, and she took his warmth and his immense weight gladly.

  She looked in his clear, blue eyes.

  “Hi,” she breathed.

  He smiled.

  God, he had a great smile.

  Her arm wrapped around him as her other hand went up, as it always did, to touch his beautiful face. Her fingertips in his thick hair, her thumb glided along his dark eyebrow then down, over this sharp cheekbone then down, along his full bottom lip.

  She watched, fascinated (no matter how many times she saw it) as the tawny spikes shot out of his pupils and the normal sky blue color of his irises was forced out and the warm, glittering, deliciously hungry tiger’s eye took over.

  She lifted her head from the pillow and placed her mouth against his. “Where have you been, my handsome wolf?”

  His tongue glided along her lower lip.

  Sonia shivered and opened her legs so his hips could fall through.

  This was, mostly, an invitation.

  It was also so she could wrap him lovingly, protectively in her limbs.

  She heard him growl as she felt it against her mouth.

  She shivered again.

  Then, his deep voice rough with approval, he said, “Always in heat, my little one.”

  “Only for you,” she whispered, her breath catching, her heart racing, her skin warming.

  She didn’t need him to touch her, kiss her, anything.

  He just needed to be near and she was ready for him.

  “What do you want?” his voice rumbled, his hips pressing. She could feel the promise of him and she could… not… wait.

  “You, inside me,” she answered.

  “Just like that?” he teased.

  “You’ve been gone a while,” she told him and arched her back. “I missed you.”

  She watched close up as his face gentled before he murmured, “Baby doll.”

  She loved it when he referred to her as “little one” because, at five foot nine (and three quarters) she was far from little.

  But she loved it even better when he called her “baby doll”.

  She pressed her lips against his, tightened her limbs around his body, lifted her hips into his, dug her nails into the muscles of his back and begged, “Please, my handsome wolf, fuck –”

  She didn’t finish, his hips reared back, her breath caught in thrilling anticipation and she waited for his invasion.

  * * * * *

  Sonia’s eyes opened.

  “Damn!” she snapped softly into the night.

  Always, right before the good stuff happened, she’d wake up.

  And always, when she woke up, she was hot and bothered.

  Immensely so.

  Frustratingly so.

  Unless she did something about it, which she always did.

  She turned to her nightstand, took out her toy, touched the button and slid it between her legs.

  Her neck arched, her body tightened and not long later, her mind filled with visions of her handsome wolf, she made herself come.

  It was nowhere near as good as her dream eve
n as frustratingly short as her dream always was.

  But it was all she was going to get.

  Her “puppy” was dead and her “handsome wolf” didn’t exist in the real world (alas) so her toy was all she had.

  For some reason that night this upset her more than it usually did.

  She put her toy away, got out of bed and padded to her window seat to look out into the dark.

  “I need a dog,” she told the window.

  And she did. She’d always wanted one, even as a child. Her father had actually bought her one that last Christmas and he and her mother were on their way to pick it up when they got into the accident. But after they’d been killed, Gregor, not wanting the animal in his home, had given the dog away.

  A dog wouldn’t think she was weird because she could see better, hear better, smell better and sense things. A dog wouldn’t care just as long as she fed it, pet it and threw a Frisbee for it.

  “That’s it,” she told the window, “I’m getting a –”

  She stopped, her body froze but her head jerked around to look toward the door.

  Someone was in her house.

  She jumped up and ran to the bedside table, yanking her phone from its cradle.

  She’d pressed the nine and the one before they were on her.

  This stunned her.

  When she’d sensed them, they’d only just breached the door and her alarm didn’t go off. She knew no one who could move that fast and that silently while at the same time disabling an alarm.

  One hand at her mouth and one arm around her waist, she was swung around, her legs flying wide and she dropped the phone.

  Instinctively, her fingers formed a claw and she scratched the arm holding her waist. She felt her long, strong nails (she religiously took a cocktail of vitamins every morning and this gave her shining hair and fast-growing, strong nails, that, in that particular moment, she was deliriously happy for) digging in deep.

  She heard his inhuman howl and she was tossed away with such force she flew across the room, literally right through the air, and slammed into the wall.

  She fell to the floor and didn’t hesitate. She surged up already on the run.

  She was tagged within seconds. Her wrist caught, she was whirled sharply, the tug at her arm causing her to feel an acute, intense pain up her arm and along her shoulder. She had no time to cry out, her arm was wrapped around her front, her other wrist caught and pulled forward as well. Her attacker, she noted distractedly, was huge and had enormous hands, holding both wrists tight at her front with little effort while his other hand went to cover her mouth.

  His lips came to her ear.

  “Play nice, queenie,” he ordered.

  “Jesus, fucking, God, she’s a goddamn wildcat,” the other swore from behind them.

  Their smell hit Sonia then.

  She’d smelled them before.

  They’d tracked her before. They were the menacing ones.

  But they’d always kept a distance. Now, obviously, there was nothing distant about them and this made terror slice through her.

  He held her easily. His strength was hard to miss. She was kicking out with her heels, connecting with his shins and he didn’t even so much as grunt.

  He could snap her neck in an instant, she knew it. How she knew it, she couldn’t say, she just did.

  Still, she fought his hold and only stopped when she noticed what he was doing.

  Her body went solid.

  He was sniffing her.

  Sniffing her.

  She held her breath.

  “Fuck, do you fucking smell her?” he asked against her neck, his arms tightening painfully.

  She felt his comrade get close but she heard him pull in breath through his nose.

  Then his friend muttered, “Jesus.”

  “You touch yourself tonight, queenie?” her captor asked, his voice a leer.

  Her body jerked with surprise.

  Oh my God, she thought hysterically, they’re like me.

  “Sure she did.” The other got close, bending from his enormous height to peer in her face. “She doesn’t smell like that normally. I would have noticed.”

  For some strange reason, her captor was rubbing his temple against her neck, her jaw, her cheek. “Christ, I’m getting hard.”

  “What do you think?” his friend asked, getting closer, his voice dropping, becoming ugly with greed. “Will we get medals, promotions, or both, we do her before the king can claim her?”

  Sonia’s body locked tight as fear froze every muscle.

  “Both,” her captor muttered, his hand moving from her mouth, down her neck, her chest, his aim unmistakable as he continued, “Me first.”

  She opened her mouth to scream. Her captor’s friend’s hand shot toward her face and she gave an almighty heave to get loose when they heard the thundering, unbelievably terrifying howl.

  Everyone froze but Sonia’s eyes shot to the door.

  The man from her dream stood there.

  She gasped.

  Then he moved, dropped down and crouched low on both legs and not even a second passed before he surged up…

  And the man was gone but, suddenly – she could not believe her eyes – her wolf, alive and snarling, was flying across the room.

  He landed on her captor’s colleague who went down with a wounded yelp.

  Sonia, thinking vaguely that her fear was making her hallucinate, got one chance to look and saw a spray of blood spurting across the room before she was tossed again.

  She flew through the air and fell down, the back of her head slamming against the corner of her bedside table. She felt a brief moment of pain and she heard a vicious snarl at the same time she could have sworn she heard the tearing of flesh.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Two

  The Throne

  Ryon walked into the throne room of the Territorial Mansion and he felt his jaw grow tight.

  Desdemona sat on the throne on the dais, her dark, gleaming hair around her shoulders, her face fully made up, an honor guard of twelve flanking the back of the throne and down the steps of the dais.

  She, at least, was smart enough to know if she wanted to try something it would take at least thirteen of them to bring him low.

  However, she wasn’t smart enough not to appear unaware of their surprise visit.

  Or there was the distinct possibility she was still panting for the opportunity to see Callum and she’d hastily thrown this circus together for his benefit.

  Fuck, Ryon had called her only a half an hour before and she’d managed to pull together this show.

  Stupid bitch.

  He barely got two steps in the room before the entire guard dropped to a knee, fell forward on a hand and gazed at him, heads up.

  Much more slowly, Desdemona gracefully alighted from the chair and she took her time moving a step to her left before she fell into the same ceremonial bow.

  Ryon hadn’t seen her in years and she hadn’t changed. Haughty because of her high birth, conceited because of her extreme beauty and stupid because she just plain was.

  She was lucky it was Ryon moving toward her. If Callum had seen that demonstration, he’d have her head and deserve it.

  He might have it anyway and deserve it more.

  Desdemona, daughter of Titium and Governor of the Western Territories of the Americas was about to learn that King Callum was not, at all, like the patient, generous, benevolent King McDonagh was.

  Without a word, he walked up the steps of the dais, sat in the throne and muttered, “Rise.”

  The guard and Desdemona took their feet.

  She stepped down two steps and turned to him.

  “Ryon,” she greeted familiarly and with anyone else but her, because he didn’t like her and with what was happening in her territory, Ryon might have allowed it.

  Instead, he sensed the eyes of the guard, he’d never liked Mona and he knew the state of her territory therefore he clipp
ed, “You forget yourself, Governor.”

  He watched as her face grew pale, her mouth set hard and her eyes flashed.

  Jesus, she was stupid.

  He should strike her.

  He didn’t. He wanted her brain functioning properly when he had a go at her.

  He watched as she bowed her head and murmured, “Your grace.”

  He let go her silent rebellion, threw his hand out and commented, “This is impressive. Half an hour ago, you didn’t know of the king’s imminent arrival.”

  “We’re ever ready in the Western Territory, your grace,” Desdemona replied.

  Bullshit, she knew they were coming.

  That was why they’d moved on the queen.

  Could the bitch be more stupid?

  “Where is he, I mean,” she hesitated before finishing, “the king?”

  Ryon surveyed her.

  Yes, she could be more stupid. Because there was a chance she didn’t even know about the queen and even as those in her territory conspired to break the treaty, she couldn’t hide her eagerness to see Cal.

  She was, quite plainly, gagging for it.

  In fact, there was a more than mild possibility she’d orchestrated this fiasco in order to get it.

  If she wasn’t involved in the conspiracy, this grand show was entirely for Cal.

  Jesus, Cal must be a master of his own dick to inspire this kind of devotion. He’d finished the messy business with Desdemona over a hundred years ago and she still wasn’t over him.

  “He’s collecting his queen,” Ryon answered bluntly, exposing knowledge that had been, for thirty-one years, treated as the most crucially held state secret.

  Every last guard pulled in breath and even Desdemona gasped.

  All right then, perhaps she didn’t know.

  “The queen is in my territory?” she asked, her voice breathy and irate, not even attempting to hide her displeasure. Anyone else would find that knowledge an unreserved honor even if they knew the queen was human.

  “Yes,” Ryon replied.

  “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.

  “Believe it, Mona,” Ryon returned sharply. “And while you’re wrapping your mind around that you better pray he gets to her before the men who were dispatched to kidnap her do.”

  Her body jolted and the air in the room got thick.

  Finally, the bitch was smart enough to know fear and she definitely knew Cal enough to know that fear was warranted.