Hateful Desire

by Marianne Willis

  He shrugged, gaze on the sky. “I sensed your mood, living under the same roof with you, I felt your sadness…always sadness,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

  One thing she hated most; sharing her emotions. She snapped her fingers in his face to snag his attention. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Right, give back your powers and move on with my life.” One brow arched. “I’d jump at the chance, but I can’t.” His eyes zeroed in on her. “You’re mine.”

  Electricity or something close coursed in her veins. “I’m not yours. This thing between us is no match made in heaven…you threatened to kill me. I can’t say that swept me off my feet.”

  “This is why I chose to speak alone, make you understand what the future holds for us.”

  She intended to protest, but he clutched her shoulders.

  “I know we’re not the ideal match. If I had a choice, you’d think I’d choose you?” He sneered. “You are the last woman I want, but guess what? I didn’t choose you, fate did. Cruel and twisted as this all is, I can’t back out because I need you now.”

  She tugged out of his hold, and staggered. Tresses of her hair covered her eyes, and she puffed the strands from her face. “Why me?”

  “Without you, I can’t compete for the lead in my pack. I’ve worked so hard, and won’t let the opportunity slip by because of the unfortunate circumstance.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Anyone in the tribe who contends for the position of Alpha must complete a series of events, games, competitions, rituals. The games aren’t the only thing to secure the position of alpha. The werewolf must bond with their mate…” He spared her a fleeting glance. “To ensure an heir.”

  An heir? An heir! Bile rose. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Witches aren’t the only ones with laws. Those competing have already found their mates.”

  Why was this happening? She clutched the rail of the outdoor swing. A baby. He needed a baby…with her. “But I don’t love you.” That would be the only reason she’d conceive a child. After she met a man who loved her unconditionally, a man whom she wished to marry, start a family and share her life with.

  “This isn’t about love. This is about fate. You and I are meant to be, whether you believe it or not.”

  Fate should be heart-warming, exciting and romantic…this was far from romantic. “How can you contemplate bringing a child into this world when you don’t love its mother?”

  “I may not like you, but I will commit, and you must do the same. The tables have turned, Amber. We’re playing by my rules now.”

  Oh, she grasped how this worked. “I will not be bossed around. I’m not someone you can control.”

  “Don’t be mistaken.” He tilted her chin, and smirked. “You’ll have some control. After all, I do love a woman on top.”

  Could he make his detestation any clearer? She did not want to imagine being with him, his naked body beneath hers as she rode him…. A warm shiver ran through her and wetness pooled between her legs.

  His nose flared, and his pupils dilated. Could he smell her arousal? She froze. Why the notion delighted her, she had no idea. “You make me sick.” A lie, she found him attractive, and the fact he stirred her senses made the matter worse. She curled her arms around her midriff, and sailed inside.

  ****

  Chayton remained where he stood, body tensed. Her scent still lingered in the air. Caramel and salt. No confusion to what it was…he’d turned her on. His inner wolf howled, and he hungered to storm into the house, haul her against the wall, lower his pants, and drag her long skirt above her waist.

  He wouldn’t even remove her underwear, just tug the material aside and pound into her while the photo frames on the wall crashed to the tiles.

  Now that he knew she was his mate, his craving heightened. He grunted and forced the idea out of his mind.

  No, he must stay in control. At least he’d laid it all out on the table, ceased any illusions floating in her head. How many times had Amber Johnson messed up his life? Too many. She wouldn’t ruin this.

  Removing her powers was necessary, regardless of the pained look in her eyes that made him shudder. He didn't trust the witch and would not let her control him again.

  At sixteen, he’d considered himself weak; that night in hospital, many years ago, he’d cried instead of facing life like a man. The idea of disappointing his parents and his tribe had crushed him. They weren’t disappointed, but concerned. His time in hospital changed him. After he’d recovered, he proved his might, trained persistently, and built his strength and ability. His potency grew when he’d turned eighteen and transfigured from man to werewolf. The tribe knew his capability, understood the importance of leading. But becoming Alpha mattered to the others, too. And the men in his tribe deserved a fair go. The rules must be followed, the games must be played, and his mate must bear his mark.

  He headed in. At the dinner table, Amber placed plates and cutlery down, once more avoiding his presence. He hadn’t lied about disliking her, she had to be the worst woman he’d ever met, and pathetic as he sounded, he pitied himself. He bit back a mocking laugh. Ironic how fate worked; the woman who’d once ruined his life was now the one to set it in order.

  “Why don’t you offer Chayton another beer?” Taylor asked her daughter.

  Amber stiffened, setting the final dinner plate on the table. Would she listen or ignore the request? He grinned when she approached the fridge, and reappeared with a fresh cold one. He gathered the bottle, his fingers brushing hers. All thought of hatred disappeared at the simple stroke. Her breath hitched, and she peered up. Heat caressed him. Unlike the carnal fantasy he’d had moments ago, this time he desired to touch her, tempted to sample the softness of her skin.

  The image in his mind shifted when the werewolf inside took over, and his fingertips burned, desperate to extend into claws, haul her to him and hold her. His gums ached, ready to mark her, but before the concept formed to action, Amber dashed to the kitchen. He took a swig of his beer, and allowed the crisp taste to flow down his throat.

  “What are you doing here?” A familiar male voice asked.

  Chayton twisted to the warlock who would soon be his brother in-law. “Lucas.” He held out his hand. “Good to see you.” Sarcasm filled his voice.

  “Likewise.” Lucas shook his hand, squeezing a little harder than a typical shake. “Do I have to repeat my question?”

  “Lucas?” In the kitchen, Amber twisted the tea towel clutched in her hand.

  The warlock bypassed him. “Ma told me you were home, but I came to see for myself you’re in one piece.”

  To Chayton’s surprise Lucas took her in his arms and hugged her tight.

  “I’m fine,” she told him. “I’m sorry I drank your potion before you had a chance to study it.”

  Lucas eased out of the embrace and shrugged. “I know the method now. I’m already working on a new one.”

  “I’m glad. You’re very gifted.”

  Last time she hadn’t appeared so pleased for her brother, but now, she spoke with true pride. They took their places at the dinner table. He attempted sitting with his mate, but she slumped next to her brother, so he settled for the spot across. William sat at the head of the table, and Taylor perched between himself and her husband after setting the dishes.

  Similar to a typical conventional housewife, Taylor served the veal, mashed potato, and veggies on ceramic china plates and set them in front of everyone except her daughter.

  Could Taylor be angry at Amber? Was that the reason she ignored her presence? Maybe Taylor didn’t appreciate the way Amber treated him. But an unfazed Amber rolled her eyes, snatched her plate, and scooped her own serving.

  Steel clinking with ceramic filled the silence while everyone ate. One thing for sure, Taylor was a much better cook than her daughter, and he enjoyed the spices in the roast, and the creamy mashed potatoes. The lack of conversation unsettled him.

&n
bsp; He continued to stare, but Amber seemed determined to avoid eye-contact. Dinner with his family was a competition of who spoke the loudest, not silence. Did anyone in the Johnson family like each other?

  “I did a clean-out of my house, and found some old spell books I don’t use anymore.” Lucas told Amber, then took a bite of his veal. “They’re in the car if you want them.”

  The steak knife slipped from her fingers, and rattled on the table. She inhaled a breath, and at last met his gaze. “You haven’t heard?” she told her brother, yet kept her gaze on him. “My powers are gone.”

  “What!” Lucas slammed his fork down. “How?”

  “Maybe our mother or our dinner guest can explain?”

  Lucas glowered. “What did you do, wolf?”

  “Calm yourself, Lucas,” Taylor intervened. “We removed them, so she won’t be able to cast anymore spells on Chayton.”

  Lucas scoffed.

  William shook his head, yet his side-part hairstyle didn’t jiggle. “She will be fine without her powers.”

  Now Amber grimaced. “How can you say that, Pa?”

  The older warlock dabbed his lips with a napkin. “You must focus on your future with Chayton. Now you don’t have to stress about your witchcraft.”

  Rage seeped inside his pores…her rage. She clutched the tablecloth. “All you talk about is the powerful ancestors of the Johnson clan. You and Ma always hoped I’d live up to the legacy…now I can’t.”

  Taylor cut tiny pieces of her veal. She must have been one those women who attended a fancy private school that taught ladylike manners. “You don’t have to. You should be relieved. Your brother’s power has done our name proud. To be honest, I’m embarrassed when people ask if you will ever be like the rest of our family.”

  “But you’ll rather brag to your friends at the country club about how I’m fated to a wolf?”

  “Our point exactly.” William grinned, saluting the bottle in his hand.

  Chayton frowned. The old warlock probably used the same grin when closing a business deal. From the open-mouthed expression, Amber’s wasn’t biting. He could not blame her. For some reason, her parents showed her coldness. He hadn’t experienced anything of the sort. His own parents loved and supported him to no end. Amber’s unhappiness about the situation couldn’t be any more evident, but her folks only considered their gain.

  He was not complaining because their advantage happened to be his own. He needed her, simple as that. But, if he had a daughter, or a son, he wouldn’t place his wishes before their happiness. Again, he glanced at Amber, unable to fathom having children with this woman. He would make a good father, caring, supportive, and he’d be loyal. Amber acted so immature sometimes, he struggled picturing her with a stranger’s child, let alone her own.

  “I wish you’d both realise how wrong this is, removing my power.”

  “I agree,” Lucas threw in.

  “Oh, Amber, there wasn’t much to take. Like your father said, you should be relieved. No wasting time with spells. Witchcraft is just not for you.”

  Protectiveness stirred deep in his gut. Amazing, in a way, how he hated her and yet couldn’t help defend his mate. “She can’t be that bad,” he reasoned. “She placed me under a Keeper Spell.”

  Taylor laughed, waving her hand over her lips. William, too, chuckled. “A spell that broke,” Taylor said. “Besides, a Morsel knows how to place a Keeper Spell. The only good Amber has ever done for this household was win a few pageants. I guess she can’t be blamed for having more beauty than brains.”

  Amber’s face scorched red. A sharp lash lanced beneath his chest. Her pain. So potent, so alive and throbbing. Taylor’s cruelness toward her own daughter astounded him. His protective instincts amplified. “Well, if she’d had the right vampire, the death spell would’ve worked.”

  The room fell into silence. Not an awkward type of stillness, but a lethal one.

  He spilled the secret.

  At Brianna’s place, he remembered them saying witches forbade death spells.

  William clutched his beer tight enough to shatter the glass. Taylor’s hands lay flat over the table, cheeks blazing red. Lucas was the only one regarding him, shaking his head. No words were necessary. The warlock deemed him an idiot.

  Amber focused on her untouched plate, face pale, eyes moist with unshed tears.

  “You did what?” her parents asked in unison.

  She met their gaze with slow hesitancy. “It failed―”

  “That’s beside the point,” Taylor yelled.

  “What’s wrong with you?” William cut in. “Do you aim to disappoint us, Amber?”

  “No. I meant to help Brianna…that’s all. What difference does it make now?” She shot from her seat, slamming her hands over the table. The cutlery rattled. “You took my powers regardless. I can’t perform any spells.”

  “A good thing we did,” Taylor said. “You are unfit to be a witch—”

  “I could be the most powerful witch in existence, but that won’t ever be good enough!”

  His timing might be way off, but he attempted calming his mate. “Why don’t you sit, Amber.”

  “Yes,” Taylor agreed. “Listen to your fiancé. Sit down.”

  Her chair scuffed along the floor, and she raced for the backdoor. “He is not my fiancé!”

  He extended his hand, stopping Taylor charging after her. “Let me.” He created this mess, now he must fix it.

  Outside, she stood by the pool, back to him, arms folded. She wheeled when he approached, lips pursed and nostrils flaring.

  “You just can’t keep your big mouth shut,” she spat, circling him.

  “Look, I forgot.” He never had to follow the rules of any witch code. “I guess I felt the need to defend you.”

  Eyes blazed, she threw up her arms. “Don’t defend me. Don’t talk in my head. And don’t come here. Just get out of my life!”

  She shunted at his chest, and he tensed, staggering. He aimed for balance, but found no such thing. Cold water escalated his legs and higher before he dunked under.

  She’d shoved him in the pool!

  He hit the bottom, and peered at the rippling silhouette standing at the edge. Fervent fury simmered within, so intense, he expected the pool water to boil. Fists clenched, he propelled off the pebbled bottom, surging to the surface.

  Dark, wet hair covered his view, and he flipped the dripping mane out of the way. The object of his anger stepped back with caution, face pale, hands trembling. If she believed she could escape, she was about to be disappointed. He hauled himself out of the pool, and trudged toward his retreating mate.

  Amber screamed when he caught her wrist.

  “Care to join me for a swim?” He dragged her toward the edge, her panicked eyes darting from him to the pool.

  “No. No,” she chanted. Her knee struck, and he wished he’d seen it coming, but the painful tightness erupting from his groin to his stomach proved too late.

  “Son of a…” Flames invaded his neck, and he clutched his waist, falling to his knees.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  One move, and he could knock her off her feet, flat on her back, and then teach her how to treat his favourite body part, but instead he controlled his anger, and fisted the grass. Claws dug into the dirt, and his canines elongated.

  The cravings surged. He longed to mark her, make her his. The instinct became overpowering. Regardless of his feelings, his body wanted her. He had every right to claim what was his, but he closed his mind against the mental images, fearful of the ardent ruthlessness running in his veins.

  “Run, Amber.” He managed to grunt before doing something he might regret. “Or I swear I’ll make you scream.” Even as he stated the threat, he wasn’t sure if he meant in pleasure or pain…probably both.

  She did, scampering through the yard and into the house. Amber Johnson had just cut the last thread of his patience.

  Chapter 7

  Sweat dripped dow
n and tickled the sides of his face. Wrists straight, grip tight, Chayton jabbed. Left arm, right arm, left. Each hit targeted the QG logo on the black leather heavy-bag, releasing all his frustration, aggravation, and yeah, sexual tension. He’d found Amber after one, extensive, tormenting week. If she had stayed away a moment longer, he might have lost his mind.

  Familiar with her annoying presence, a part of him missed her. The same questions had bombarded him over and over. Where was she? What was she doing? Who was she doing? The last had been the worst, most unbearable thought of all.

  Amber belonged to him, but he knew of her many past lovers. His stomach churned at the knowledge. At least she was now safe. The night she vanished, he’d paced for hours, frightened, and plagued with awful images of her flashing somewhere and injuring herself.

  Someone knocked, and he clutched the swinging bag, keeping it steady. “Enter.”

  His secretary, Gwen, sauntered in, beaming her usual smile: one displaying more interest than an average employee. No exaggeration either, because if Ian eyed him like that, he’d deck him. She placed a stack of files on his p-shaped desk, next to his half-empty coffee.

  “Kelly’s finished with her yoga class for the day. She said to say goodbye.”

  The bag bounced as he continued to punch, the slap of his fists on the leather resounding in the room.

  “Have you considered changing the style in here?” She whirled her finger above his basic desktop computer and metal drawers.

  He could upgrade if he desired, considered doing so once, but the designer who presented the floor plans intended to decorate with new technology and refined furnishings. The idea of state-of-the-art solar-heating windows and unparalleled art paintings made him uncomfortable.

  He classified himself a simple guy, learned a long time ago extravagant items did not make a person. “I like things the way they are,” he replied between blows.

  “Do you want a fresh cup?” She pointed to the mug.

  He furrowed his brow, glancing at the silver analogue clock above the window. “Gwen, you were supposed to go home an hour ago.”