Wild Hunger

by Suzanne Wright

  “Come on, Frankie, fuck me.” He slipped one wet finger inside the bud of her ass, and her pace faltered. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Move.” She resumed rising and falling, so that she was fucking both his cock and his finger. “Harder, Frankie, make yourself come.”

  And then it happened. White-hot pleasure blasted through Frankie like a hot wind, trapping a scream in her throat and making her pussy ripple around the cock that throbbed deep inside her. Just as it distantly occurred to her that he hadn’t come, he lifted her off his cock and pushed on her shoulder.

  “Get on your knees, Frankie,” Trick growled. A little dazed, she did as she was told. “That’s it. Open your mouth.” The moment she parted those lips, he thrust inside. He wasn’t careful or gentle. He gripped her hair as he fucked her mouth, frantically punching his hips. Then his release barreled into him and he exploded, blowing his load right down her throat.

  He closed his eyes as it all drained out of him—the anger, the frustration, the thirst for vengeance. Slipping his hands under her arms, Trick pulled her to her feet. He held her to him, burying his face in her neck, rocking her loose body from side to side. “You always do that.”

  “What?” she slurred, weakly stroking his back.

  “Bring me peace.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair. “Missed you.” Those few hours without her had felt a hell of a lot longer. Maybe because, for a while, he hadn’t been himself.

  “It was no fun going to bed without you. Let’s not do that often.”

  He smiled. “Agreed.” He breathed her in. His heart stuttered. “Our scents have mixed.”

  Frankie’s nostrils flared, and she grinned. “That means the bond is strengthening, right?”

  “Right. And now everyone will now you’re mine just by your scent.”

  “I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t get the same satisfaction from that idea.” After they’d both washed their hair and rinsed away the suds, they stepped out of the shower and dried off. It wasn’t until they were in bed—him on his back, her nestled against his side—that she spoke again. “I don’t want to put a downer on the mood, and I know you’d rather not talk about it, but I’d like to know whether Drake—”

  “He can never hurt you again.”

  Meaning he was dead, she thought. “Then what’s troubling you?” She’d have expected him to feel better now that he’d had his vengeance. “You feel bad for killing him?”

  “Fuck no.” Sighing, Trick skimmed his fingers up and down her back. “He said that Morelli sent him to kidnap you.” He relayed everything Drake had told him.

  Frankie traced the lines and dips of his abs as she spoke. “He could be telling the truth. I mean, extremists have tried to provoke our kind into starting a war, but we formed The Movement instead. If they want the war bad enough, they need to try something else. And it would be smart to try to recruit a shifter they can work with. Not that I believe they wouldn’t actually kill Morelli. He might not even believe that they’d let him live. They might simply be content on using each other.”

  “If he was telling the truth, Morelli planned to serve us to the extremists on a silver fucking platter.” His wolf peeled back his upper lip.

  “I’d say it’s time for Trey to have a talk with him.”

  “Tried that. Morelli’s number is no longer in use.” That could mean a lot of things—none of which he wanted to explore right then. “Let’s not talk anymore about that fucker.” Trick caught her hand and kissed her palm. “How did the rest of your night go?”

  “Good.”

  “No males were hanging around, trying to steal you from me?”

  She chuckled. “No.”

  “No one gave you any problems?”

  “No.”

  The slight hesitation before she spoke made him frown, especially since agitation briefly spiked down their bond. “What happened?”

  She sighed. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. You have enough shit on your mind tonight.”

  “I want to know.” He pulled her on top of him so he could better look her in the eye. “Tell me now.”

  She bit her lip, resting her chin on his chest. “Rio was a little . . . unfriendly.”

  Fucker. “Define unfriendly.”

  “He basically indicated that, as I don’t have a dick, he believed I wasn’t what you needed. He thinks you’re gay—or at least mostly gay. And if what Marcus said is right, he’s bitter that pursuing you never worked out for him.”

  Trick swore, pissed with both the motherfucker and himself. “I shouldn’t have left you.” He should have stayed at her side, protected her.

  “I’m a big girl, you know.”

  “Tell me Marcus dealt with the bastard.”

  “He, Derren, and Zander took said bastard outside for a ‘conversation.’”

  “Good.”

  “Of course, that was after I stabbed his hand with my claws.”

  Trick blinked. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve proven over and over that behind your cuteness lies a mean little she-wolf.” She just shrugged. “Tell me that you know Rio was chatting utter bullshit.”

  “I know,” she assured him. “You want me, whatever package I come in.”

  “But the things he said hurt you.”

  “They stung a little, I’ll admit that. No one likes to hear their mate’s ex brag about how they know what he likes and what he tastes like. Not that I hadn’t already figured out that you liked it rough and were a fan of anal. According to Rio, you’ll stick around for a while if I give your dick access to my ass.”

  Trick cupped her face. “Hear me, Frankie. I will fuck your ass. I’ll fill every inch of it and claim it as mine. Not because I like anal, but because it’s you. Whatever we do, it’s always about you.”

  Frankie lifted a brow. “Look, I don’t mind you using a finger now and then.” She’d grown to like that. “But your cock? No. That won’t happen. Don’t give me that indulgent smile, like I’m delusional or something.”

  “Oh, baby, I don’t think you’re delusional. I just think you’re full of shit.” He slid a hand down her back to cup one globe. “I will have this ass. I will fuck it and claim it and come deep inside it. And you know what? You’ll love every moment of it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You can wipe that indulgent smile right off your face.”

  “Annoying, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it damn well is.”

  She snickered. “We can argue about it tomorrow. I’m wiped.” She rested her cheek on his chest and closed her eyes. She waited until she was on the verge of sleep before she said, “By the way, I love you too.”

  Trick went rigid. “You can’t tell someone you love them and then just go to sleep.”

  “Watch me,” she slurred. And then she drifted off.

  The next day, Trick frowned as he stared at Ryan. “Say that again.”

  Standing in the center of Trey’s office, the enforcer repeated, “Morelli is gone. The buildings on his land, including the pack house, were all burned to the ground. It was no forest fire or accident. Accelerant was used. Someone deliberately destroyed them. There wasn’t a soul in sight.”

  Trey’s chair creaked as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his desk. “Any bodies?”

  “Not that I could see,” replied Ryan. “But I can’t be sure that no one died in the fire.”

  “So either someone tried to kill the pack, or Morelli did the damage himself and then scampered.” Trey tapped his chin. “Maybe he knew we had Drake. But how?”

  Perched on the edge of the desk, Dominic said, “He could have someone watching our territory from a distance, or he could even have tagged Drake’s body the way he tagged our SUVs.”

  “Both those scenarios are possible,” agreed Trick. “Morelli might have worried that Drake would talk—or he wasn’t prepared to take chances—so he did a runner. He could have burned down the buildings just so that no one else could claim them. He’s spiteful that way.”

  Leaning against t
he wall, Marcus scratched at his stubbly jaw. “I didn’t figure Morelli for someone to run.”

  “He’s not a guy who’s ruled by pride,” Dante pointed out. “He’s realistic enough to know that we have far more powerful alliances than he could dream of having. As we’ve said before, he has a plan.”

  Ryan grunted in agreement. “His mind is centered on that. If hiding means preserving that plan, he’ll do it. But I think he’ll adapt it to include us being wiped out—probably at his hand.”

  Trick turned to Trey. “You’re my Alpha, I respect you, but if you wanted me to flee with you and hide somewhere, I’d expect there to be a damn good reason. Otherwise you’d lose a great deal of my respect. That makes me wonder if Morelli’s pack is hiding with him. If they are, what reason would he give them?”

  Dominic tossed a paperweight from one hand to the other. “I think we’re right that Morelli burned down the buildings, but I don’t think his pack knows it was him. I think he blamed it on someone else. Possibly us. His pack would leave with him and agree to hide if he gave them some spiel about lying low while they plotted revenge or some shit like that.”

  “It’s probable,” said Ryan. “Whatever the case, I think he’ll launch an attack at some point. Not just because we messed up his plan, but because he truly wants our territory. His style is to take out the strongest members and try to recruit the others.” He looked at Trey and Dante. “That means you two will be his main targets. But you’ll need to watch out too, Trick. You and your mate both thwarted him. And in doing so, you made it impossible for his plan to work. Trey didn’t come to him for help like Morelli wanted. You also ensured that Drake was hunted down, which lost Morelli one of his wolves. In other words, you’ll be on his shit list.”

  The knock at the door made Trey frown. Still, he called out, “Come in.”

  Lydia took shy steps inside, teeth nibbling her lower lip. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “Everything okay?” asked Dante.

  She sighed. “Well, not really.”

  Trick narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was talking to Frankie at her studio. I just wanted to see her work and stuff. While I was there, she got a phone call. And then her face just went all weird. I asked what was wrong, but she blew me off and went back to work.”

  Trick checked her through their bond. She seemed calm enough, but he knew that she could throw herself so deeply into a project that her emotions took a back seat. His wolf urged Trick to find her, check on her.

  “Go see your mate,” Trey told him. “Make sure she’s okay.”

  With a curt nod, Trick left the office and stalked out of the caves and through the woods. As he neared the studio, he heard rock music blasting out of her speakers. Honestly, he didn’t know how the noise could possibly help her concentrate, but whatever worked.

  In the studio she was bent over a huge, shapeless clump of clay. Slowly and cautiously he crossed to her and said, “Hey, baby. What’s that going to be?”

  “No idea.” She flicked him a sideways glance. “Lydia went to see you, huh?” she guessed.

  Taking her by the shoulders, Trick gently turned her to face him, taking in her pinched expression and pained stare. “Who called you, and what did they say to upset you?”

  “It was my grandparents’ housekeeper, Edna.” She swallowed. “Geoffrey was admitted into the hospital this morning. He was shot in the shoulder outside the court building.”

  “Shot?” he echoed.

  “He’s okay. The shooter either had a shit aim or hadn’t wanted to kill him.” Frankie took in a shaky breath. “At first I was just shocked. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t know what to feel. It has to make me a shitty person that I went right back to my project like—”

  “You’re not a shitty person. You went back to your project the way someone else would have reached for a bottle of whiskey or a Valium. What you do here calms you and gives you an outlet. So now that the shock is subsiding, how do you feel?”

  “Worried, even though he’s okay. And . . . well, pissed.” The moment she admitted to the emotion, her anger truly hit her. She hissed through her teeth. “They didn’t even call to tell me about it, Trick. It’s one thing to disapprove of me and need to make their point by giving me the cold shoulder. It’s a whole other thing to not even call me when my grandfather is hurt.”

  Trick drew her against him and held her close, stroking her hair. “Breathe with me, Frankie. Nice and slow. That’s it.” When she seemed to have found her calm, he pulled back to meet her gaze. “Come on. We’ll lock this place up and go back to our room so you can get changed.”

  “Changed for what?”

  “I doubt you want to go to the hospital looking like that.”

  “I won’t be welcome,” she said, her voice low. “They’ll just send me away. Going up there would make me a glutton for punishment.”

  “But if something went wrong and he didn’t recover, you wouldn’t forgive yourself for not at least trying to see him.” That was the only reason Trick gave a damn about her going there. “You have every right to be at the hospital, Frankie. But if you really don’t want to go, we won’t go. It’s that simple. I just don’t want you to do something you might later regret.”

  “They’ll chase me out of there.”

  “They might try.” Trick wouldn’t let them. “I’m coming with you. I know they won’t like it, but I won’t hang back. Not just because I don’t trust them with you, but because they need to get used to the simple fact that I’m part of your life now.”

  Frankie gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

  “And if they behave like assholes, you can trust that I’ll fuck your anger out of you later.”

  Her brow slowly lifted as amusement trickled through her. “How magnanimous of you.”

  An hour or so later, they walked through an automatic sliding door right into a hospital waiting room, where rows of plastic chairs lined the plain white walls. The only real color came from artificial plants, posters, and magazines. Her wolf’s nose wrinkled at the scents of antiseptic, hand sanitizer, bleach, and coffee.

  Marcia and Brad sat opposite each other, their postures stooped, looking lost in their own thoughts. Walking toward them, Frankie cleared her throat to be heard over the sounds of people muttering and the squeak of shoes as staff walked the halls in color-coded scrubs.

  Marcia straightened in her seat, surprised. “Francesca.” Emotion briefly glittered in her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Frankie to identify it. “How did you find out?”

  Tone dry, Frankie said, “I’m well, thanks, how are you?”

  Brad raked a hand through his hair. “Frankie, I—”

  “We’ll pretend that you didn’t meet with Trick to bribe him to leave my life and that you have no idea who he is,” said Frankie, her voice even. This wasn’t the time to let loose her anger. “Brad, Marcia—this is Trick, my mate. Trick, that’s my uncle, Brad, and my grandmother, Marcia.” Neither of them did more than cast Trick a brief look, but at least they hadn’t scowled or attempted to send him away. “How is Geoffrey?”

  Brad took a shaky breath. “The doctors said he’ll be fine. The bullet went straight through and didn’t hit any vital organs, but he lost a fair bit of blood. He’s had a transfusion and . . .” Brad swallowed. “It was hard to see him like that. Pale. Weak.”

  “And the shooter?”

  “She was arrested.” He shifted in his seat. “I’d say, ‘Sit down,’ but these chairs will make your ass numb.”

  His attempt at humor didn’t break the tension, but she appreciated the effort. She didn’t sit—not simply because she didn’t feel welcome, but also because too much tension rode her body. “Do the police know why the woman shot him?”

  “It was someone from an old case,” said Brad. “A custody battle.”

  Frankie’s brow knitted. “Custody?”

  “A couple wanted custody of their grandchildren. Their daughter joined one of those
New Age cults after her husband died, and they didn’t think it was a suitable environment for the children. Their daughter didn’t want her parents to have visitation rights with the children, said her father used to . . . sexually abuse her. She said the cult was her sanctuary and that the children would be safe there. The battle was long and ugly.”

  “Geoffrey granted the grandparents custody,” Frankie guessed.

  “Yes.” He looked down at his hands, seeming lost. “Recently, one of the children—she was thirteen—killed herself. She wrote a letter, claiming her grandfather abused her and she couldn’t take it anymore.”

  And then Frankie understood. “The mother shot Geoffrey.”

  “She shot her father too,” said Brad. “He’s dead.”

  If they couldn’t see the correlation to their own situation, they were blind. It was obvious that Geoffrey had seen Caroline and Francesca when he looked at that woman and her children. He’d seen the pack and Christopher when he looked at the cult. And he’d seen himself and Marcia when he looked at the grandparents. Which was why he should never have presided over that case, but there was little point in voicing what was so abundantly clear.

  “He’s speaking with the police at the moment,” said Marcia, twirling her wedding band around her finger. “You can talk to him afterward, if you’d like.”

  Frankie nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  Trick put his mouth to her ear. “Want coffee?”

  “No, thanks. It’ll either be weak or sludge.” She rubbed her temple. The fluorescent lighting was giving her a headache.

  No one spoke another word as they waited for the police to exit Geoffrey’s hospital room. Once they finally did, Marcia jumped to her feet and pounded them with questions.

  “He’s in room 4A,” Brad told Frankie.

  Trick stayed close behind her as they walked down the hallway. Pushing open the door, Frankie saw Geoffrey propped up on pillows, watching the wall-mounted TV. She was surprised to see him hooked up to so many different machines that monitored his vitals, since he wasn’t ill. She wasn’t sure whether it was pain, blood loss, shock, or a combination of all three, but he looked pale even against the bright white linens.