by L. L. Raand
“And if the next creatures of yours are as easily dispatched as the last army you set forth, what good are they?”
For an instant, flames sparked in the depths of his shadowed orbits. “Individually they might be vulnerable, but if unleashed in numbers, they will prevail.”
“How many numbers?”
“The sortie against the Snowcrest wolves was a test, My Lady,” he went on, his face composed and unconcerned. “One-on-one, the odds were not in our favor. Five to one, ten to one even better…we will be victorious.”
“If I had such numbers at my disposal,” Francesca said, “I wouldn’t need you.”
He bowed his head, but not before she saw the smug smile cross his features. “Of course, I understand. But circumstances as they are…” His voice drifted off, and once again he shrugged. “I can, with enough power, raise an army from more than just the Were dead. I can transform the birds and beasts of the Fae realm to swell our numbers.”
“And how will we provide you with that power?”
“I believe you know.” His gaunt features twisted in anticipation of pleasure. He was blood-addicted, just as any human blood junkie who hungered for the erotic pleasure unleashed by the chemicals injected during a Vampire’s bite. Unlike ordinary humans, his spell-casting powers were magnified as well.
“My generosity is not endless, Maester Finngar. You would do well to remember that.” She stretched out a hand. “Come then. Come taste the power.”
His haughty expression turned to one of naked avarice as he rushed forward to kneel at her feet. His erection, long and thin and rigid, pressed against the laces of his trousers. Before he finished fumbling to withdraw himself, she jerked him upright between her thighs and buried her incisors in his neck. His head snapped back, and he finished instantaneously with a convulsive shudder, his eyes glazed and vacant. She sliced her wrist with one long scarlet nail and pressed it to his mouth. He drank, hardening instantly again against her thigh. His control was brief, and when he groaned and spilled a second time with a series of racking tremors, she left him slumped at the foot of her throne and went in search of her blood servants, hungry now for the taste of true pleasure.
She’d been forced to deny her own pleasure far too often after fleeing Nocturne the night Michel had attempted to destroy her and turned her dominion into a battlefield, lest she drain her few loyal servants to the point of death. She’d been able to teleport only a few of her human servants and a dozen Vampire soldiers with her through the passages to the portal into Faerie and the nebulous realm between the veils. Now she hid from those she had once ruled and feared discovery by the Faerie Queen, who would likely imprison her as Francesca hoped to do to her. Bitter irony burned in her breast. She would rise to power again, and those who had betrayed her, who had sought to destroy her, would become hers to rule.
She discovered David and Marguerite, her two favorite human servants, sleeping naked while awaiting her attentions in one of the rooms still inhabitable in the rapidly shrinking refuge. David, long and lithe of limb with curling brown locks that framed his face like a young Adonis, had been taken into her seethe when he was barely nineteen, almost a century ago. Her blood gave him longevity, just as his blood gave her erotic sustenance. The woman slumbering in the curve of his body was far younger, her skin still bearing the dusty hues of the sun’s kiss. The taste of her youth and vitality raced through Francesca’s blood more powerfully than the sweet ecstasy of orgasm.
Dropping her robe to the floor as she drew near, she stretched out between them, drawing one beneath each arm, stroking and murmuring and teasing them, already enthralling them as they slumbered. They would awaken aroused and desperate for her bite.
“Mistress,” Marguerite gasped, her eyes opening wide, her lips already swollen with need. The delectable scent of her desire floated in the air, making Francesca’s sex clench in slow voluptuous waves. “Please. Take me. Please.”
“Soon, my sweet,” Francesca whispered, pulling the young woman into her embrace. As Francesca kissed her, David caressed Marguerite’s heavy breasts, gliding his distended cock between the curve of Francesca’s hip and Marguerite’s soft belly. He groaned and plunged faster in the warm cocoon of their flesh as Francesca took Marguerite’s throat, swallowing languidly as her sex burst with power. Marguerite writhed in erotic ecstasy, her legs splayed wide, her hips rising and falling in wild abandon. Inarticulate cries tailed off to pathetic whimpers as her blood thinned and orgasm after orgasm drained her awareness.
Lifting her mouth from Marguerite’s throat, Francesca turned to David and grasped his cock in her palm. His back arched, and his eyes glazed as she stroked. When she judged him close to erupting, she drew his rampant cock between Marguerite’s thighs. When he entered her, Francesca raked her elongated incisors down his throat, waiting for the instant when he bucked and groaned, signaling his ejaculation. While he spasmed, Francesca struck deep into his flesh, devouring his blood, hot with pheromones, and the final surge of pleasure engulfed her. When she had filled herself, her own release rolling through her on twin wings of pain and ecstasy, she left them torporous and dazed. She needed them to regain their strength. She needed them to sustain her until she could return to her rightful place.
Not long now. She must bide her time, but not much longer.
* * *
Snowcrest territory
Zora doubled her pace as she raced through the forest toward Clan home. She abandoned the usual trails in favor of the untrampled forest floor, kicking up pine needles and bits of soft loam as she streaked between the close-set trunks of towering pines. Cybil and Ryan had been joined by Loris, her imperator, and Ash, the captain of her guard. Her wolves kept pace behind her but made no move to close the distance and join her. She had not invited them to run with her, although they were duty bound to protect her, and she would not admonish them for that.
She hadn’t wanted company. She hadn’t thought so, at least, until she’d picked up Trent’s trail. She could have ignored it and avoided the Timberwolf completely, but she’d circled back, crept up on her downwind where she wouldn’t be scented, and watched the black wolf bounding up the escarpment to the grassy plateau. The muscles playing in Trent’s powerful shoulders and haunches were as sleek and powerful as Zora’d expected after watching her for hours in the training yard. Her pelt was dense and shimmering with ribbons of pure white in the midnight fur. She was larger than the average female in pelt, but agile and quick despite her heavy muscles.
Zora’d sensed Cybil and Ryan close by, waiting for her signal to confront the interloper, but she had not called them forward when she’d padded out from the cover of the low dense undergrowth and drawn Trent’s attention. Trent had been just barely submissive, acknowledging Zora’s position and her power with the slightest lowering of her gaze, but that had been enough to appease Zora’s wolf. They were well matched in dominance, and that had not only been unexpected, but surprisingly exciting.
Zora broke from cover, dashed toward the stockade fence surrounding Clan home, and bounded over it, landing softly on the other side. She shed pelt from one step to the next. Loris and Ash followed her, taking a few seconds longer to shed pelt as well. Wordlessly, all three pulled plain olive-green pants and V-neck T-shirts from one of the many footlockers situated throughout the Compound. Ryan and Cybil veered off once they’d cleared the fence and retreated to headquarters now that Zora was safely back.
Zora pulled on the camos, grasped the shirt in her fist, and strode away. Her blood still surged and her skin shimmered with the lingering patina of sexual arousal.
“Alpha,” Loris called after her, his deep voice still gruff from the change. “We have not given the Timberwolves leave to run unescorted.”
Slowing, Zora glanced over her shoulder, not surprised that Loris took issue with Trent running alone. Loris was not happy to have a cadre of Timberwolf warriors foisted on him to have control over his soldiers, no matter how necessary the training might
be. He had not resisted Zora’s command, he wouldn’t, but he was Zora’s general, and Zora had no desire to undermine his authority, in private or in view of the Pack.
“We did not specifically restrict them, either,” Zora said.
Loris huffed. Older by only a few years than Zora, his deep brown eyes, black hair, and tawny coloring hinted at his Native Alaskan heritage. He was built for combat, in skin or pelt, tight-bodied, compact, and ferocious. He had been in line to be Zora’s father’s imperator, and Zora had learned to fight alongside him as adolescents. When her father had been caught in an avalanche along with his imperator in the Canadian mountains bordering their territory, leaving the Clan without an Alpha, Loris had stood by her side as she took challenge after challenge for the right to lead, a right that was hers by birth. She trusted Loris and depended on his counsel, but still, he had never led Snowcrest Weres in battle, and only rarely fought in defense of Cresthome against the occasional rogues, renegades, or predators who threatened them.
Zora feared none of her forces were ready yet, and time was not on their side. She would not disclose her misgivings, not even to Loris. Her duty was to provide unyielding, unconquerable strength and security to all her Weres, including those closest to her. Her duty created the foundation of the wall that kept her always apart.
“I don’t see any security risk in allowing the Timberwolves free rein to run,” Zora said, glancing from Loris to Ash. Ash’s mate Jace was Timberwolf, and no one in either Pack was quite sure how their mating would affect Pack dynamics or their personal positions in the hierarchy. Ash was the captain of Zora’s guard and in charge of the new training program. Jace, one of Sylvan Mir’s elite centuri, was her counterpart in the combat operation. Soon Zora and Sylvan would have to come to terms on the future of their wolves, but for now, the security of the Pack took precedence over private lives.
Loris grumbled but said nothing.
Ash spoke up. “By your leave, Alpha, I need to assemble our trainees for morning skirmishes.”
Zora waved a hand as they walked toward the rear of the dormitory building. “Of course. Go.”
Loris fell in at her side, the muscles in his powerful shoulders and back bunching and flexing beneath the tight cotton shirt. He growled. “You invited the Timberwolf to run with you this morning when you were alone.”
“I did.” That Loris should question Zora’s attention to Trent irritated her, but her wolf instantly bristled as vehemently as if she’d been challenged. Zora waited a moment until the quick burst of battle rage faded. Loris was not challenging, only questioning. “And I was not alone. You and Ash were with me.”
“She is unmated.”
Zora stopped beneath the second story porch that adjoined her quarters. “You have a point, Loris?”
Ever vigilant to protocol, even when they were alone, Loris kept his eyes just below Zora’s.
“Your call is powerful, Alpha,” Loris said, his voice a hot rumble in his chest. “One any Snowcrest wolf would be honored to answer.”
Zora sighed. Loris was her general, and she depended on his strength and wisdom and skill. Loris was also unmated, and his pheromones misted the air between them. There had been a time, when they were much younger, when Zora had tangled with Loris as she had with other adolescents—testing and searching and learning what her wolf craved. But she was not that Were any longer. She would not find the release she craved with him. She could not dampen her call, even had she wanted to, and Loris was not the only Were affected. Almost every wolf in the Pack would respond to her, welcoming the chance to tangle with her, but only the most daring would attempt to approach her.
She was careful to couple only with those who showed no sign of being vulnerable beyond the physical demands of her call. Only those who could tangle and remain untouched in its aftermath. Loris was not one of them.
“I did not extend that invitation to her today,” Zora said, “or to any other. That is not your concern.”
Loris nodded briskly. “Yes, Alpha.”
Zora grasped Loris’s nape and squeezed in a brief caress. “You know how important you are to me and the Pack, don’t you?”
Shuddering, Loris leaned against Zora’s shoulder, their bare arms touching. His skin was hot and slick and drenched in pheromones. “I would be more, if you desired.”
Zora kissed his forehead. “I know that. Now I must go, and you have our soldiers to attend to.”
“As you command, Alpha.” Loris stepped back with visible effort. He would find someone to tangle with as soon as they parted.
Zora would not. She leapt to the landing above and bounded through the open window to her quarters.
The shower was cold and brisk and helped wash away some of the tension in her muscles but did nothing to quench the burning in her loins. She had long ago learned to control her need, discovering very quickly how willing others were to answer her call because she was powerful, because she was Alpha. But every instance of intimacy ran the risk of stirring a response she did not want. Once she tangled and a Were responded with more than just sex, they would suffer if she did not pursue a bond. She was not ready, although she did not know why she waited. Any number of Snowcrest Weres would make strong mates, and she was of the age when she was ready to mate and breed. The Pack needed a strong Alpha pair, and they needed strong pups. But still, she waited, and the hunger burned brighter every day.
When she stepped into the functional but stark room where she slept alone and walked naked to the open window overlooking the training yard, she sought out only one figure. At that instant, as if summoned by Zora’s intent, Trent strode into view in khaki pants and a sleeveless tee, her body taut and tight, her presence sure and strong. Zora tensed as blood rushed to her core and her clitoris pulsed. Her sex readied, instantly full and demanding release. Her wolf clawed at the fabric of her control, ripping at the thin threads of resistance that kept her from broadcasting her call and allowing any Were nearby to ease her need.
Snarling, thwarted by her own will, she turned from the window. The Timberwolf was not for her, and she desired no one else to answer.
Chapter Three
Trent made no attempt to follow Zora and the other Weres on the run back to Clan home. The Alpha had made it clear Trent was not invited. Trent’s wolf clamored to follow, driven by instinct more powerful than reason. Trent had managed to hold on to her control despite the pressure in her chest and the burning in her belly that demanded she stay as close to Zora as she could. Trent was intrigued by Zora’s call, a constant alluring undercurrent whenever Zora was near, but out in the wild, with Trent’s wolf ascendant, she’d been captured by it on a primal level. The primitive impulse to respond was as unavoidable as breathing for any Were in the presence of an Alpha who was broadcasting their power.
Trent had run with Zora when Zora invited her, and if Zora had asked for more, she would have willingly tangled with her. But Zora had dismissed her.
Back in her solitary room, Trent shed pelt, and the trembling in her body subsided enough for her to recognize her response for what it was, instinct and biology, merely something she’d lived with all her life as part of a Pack. She tried not to ignore the other truth—that she’d never responded so intensely, so uncontrollably, to any other Were, not even her own Alpha.
Sitting on the edge of her narrow single cot, she breathed deeply, unable to stop searching for the singular scent that had dominated her consciousness for days. And there it was—a spicy, tantalizing bittersweet scent that danced over her tongue, twisted through her belly, and tingled along her spine.
Zora.
Trent’s skin prickled, and a thin line of fine dark pelt shot down the center of her belly. Her sex tightened. Zora was somewhere nearby. The instant her body registered that unique constellation of hormones and erotochemicals, a terrible pressure mushroomed inside her. Her wolf pushed to the surface, demanding that she find Zora. Touch her. Demand Zora let her. The drive to be near her, to protect her, a
nd to be protected by her was a physical pain. Trent wanted to be under her, and over her, and immersed in her.
And she could do none of those things.
She was here for one reason only, to fulfill her Alpha’s command to aid their allies, and soon she would be back with her own Pack. Where she belonged. She had no place here, and for a Were, place and Pack were life itself.
With a shake of her head, Trent gritted her teeth, ignoring Zora’s pervasive scent that assaulted her at every turn and teased her with every breath she took. After pulling on a tan T-shirt and camo BDUs, she headed outside to the training yard. Ash and the Snowcrest cadets waited on one side of the hard, packed-earth exercise square in a tight circle, bristling with barely concealed aggression. Twenty yards away, Jace—lithe, blond, and deadly—fronted the line of Timberwolf soldiers. Too many hormones clouded the air—sex, battle, lust—every Were in the Compound edgy, wary, and eager to prove their dominance, protect their territory, or release their aggression with a quick, hard tangle.
Trent nodded to Ash, who tipped her chin in greeting. Jace stepped into the space between the two groups and planted her hands on her slender hips. The power emanating from the centuri belied her age. Jace was part of the elite guard to the most powerful Alpha Were in the hemisphere, quite possibly in the world. She had earned her position in battle. She had nothing to prove. Now she was mated to a Snowcrest Were, something that hadn’t happened in either Pack for decades.
“All right,” Jace said, “listen up. Everyone pair off for close combat drills, Snowcrest and Timberwolf. Hand-to-hand only. Let’s form up.”
Trent’s job was to supervise the sparring between the Timberwolf soldiers and the Snowcrest cadets to be sure the training was not only effective, but that the training pairs were equally matched. She walked the line, occasionally correcting form, and now and then switching partners. The Snowcrest cadets were not only eager to learn new skills, they had something to prove. They were facing off against out-Pack Weres on their territory, and while they might be less experienced in combat, they were still as fierce as any other wolves claiming their territory. A particularly aggressive senior Snowcrest trainee, one of the guards Trent had seen posted on sentry duty the night before, slipped the front guard of a Timberwolf soldier and took him down with a particularly vicious leg sweep. The Timberwolf came up snarling, eyes glinting with rage. The blond Snowcrest Were snarled back in his face, her eyes instantly shimmering to gold. They’d be in pelt in a second.
