White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul

by Jianne Carlo

Her rapid panting pleased him. “Why. Am. I. Tied up?”

  Good. ’Bout time he reduced her to one word at a time. “Because this one, Melanie mine, we do at my pace, and on my terms.”

  “Mike, we shouldn’t—”

  Frowning, he tweaked her nipples and tongue tickled the hollow between her ribs, then smiled when she gasped audibly and wriggled her hips. For the next couple of hours, he intended to keep his mate on the brink of orgasm.

  Chapter Eight

  She was going to die from a heart attack brought on by extreme sexual frustration; Melanie just knew it. Squinting down to his sheet-covered form tenting the cotton right at her vagina, she dug her heels into the mattress and arched.

  A low, muffled chuckle rumbled to her ears. Balling her hands into fists, she bit down on her lip. Her clit throbbed, burned, had become the center of the world, the galaxy, no, the entire universe, and he ignored it completely. A lick with that rough tongue, a nip with those sharp teeth, that’s all it would take. Lordy, her vagina was acting like a dryer stuttering on spin cycle: start, stop, go, halt, fast-forward, rewind. She yanked at the soft cotton binding her to the headboard’s slats.

  “I love your pubes.”

  His calloused thumb traced the outline of her pubic hair, sliding down between her thighs, crossing the crease of her ass and lingering for a few too-short seconds on the sensitive indentation before sketching a whisper of a path to the other leg. She whimpered when his breath wafted across her slickened folds. The heat of his soft blowing served to engorge her swollen labia to an agonizing pain-pleasure point. Not being able to see him, only to feel and hear, and incapable of anticipating his next move proved exciting beyond reason.

  Her body smoldered and tindered, demanded, craved a full-flame, mind-shattering ignition. The sheet-abraded nipples budded taut and primed. From belly button to thighs, every inch of flesh pulsed and crackled, waiting, yearning for a swipe of his tongue, a graze of teeth, a suckling, but most of all, that first, incredible, rocket-blasting moment of penetration.

  “Want to see you.” The words came out a ragged, wild, needy plea. “Please. Mike.”

  He whipped the covers off and there he was between her legs, dark curls tousled, canines bared, forged pecs heaving, a thin film of sweat glossing his bronzed skin, and he looked for all the galaxy like the epitome of the primordial Tarzan. He pierced her with the stare of an alpha claiming his mate. “Mine. Say it.”

  She couldn’t deny his claim, yearned to surrender, to submit, but a niggle of sanity held her back. The moment held and held, and the passion, the intensity of his fevered desire snapped any remnants of rationality. “Yours. All yours.”

  The triumphant red-riding-hood-wolf grin that flashed across his face all but melted every bone she possessed. He crawled up her torso and, with a quick turn of fingers, loosened her bonds. His mouth captured hers, and she sank into the mattress. The man kissed her into oblivion, his talented lips, teeth, and tongue probing, nipping, stroking, finding every sizzling, sensitive inch of flesh while he lay hard and heavy on top of her. His penis grazed her sex every time he angled to capture her mouth from a different direction.

  A lust craze singed her nerve endings; she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him back, framing his jaw, suckled the tip of his tongue, and then bit down hard, sharp, letting him feel her need.

  He tore away from her. His fingers knitted in her curls, and he tilted her head up and back. Their gazes met, and all the air whooshed out of her lungs. The silver in his eyes had all but disappeared, leaving only dilated black pupils.

  Locking her stare to his, he gathered her hands together, tightening his hold on the fistful of hair he gripped, and prevented her from moving. He raised her hands to a slat and curved her fingers around the smooth wood. “Stay.”

  The one growled command fired every synapse and sent a spurt of hot cream trickling down one thigh. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The pungency of his wolf arousal had her nostrils flaring, her lungs expanded to suck more, more, more, and she grew drunk on his scent.

  Cupping a hand over her mound, the contact so light she wanted to scream and batter his chest but bit her lip instead and clung to the headboard, he licked a moist trail around her navel. When his hot, wet mouth closed over one desperate, destitute nipple, her pussy walls clenched and she drenched his blazing palm.

  She shuddered at the drag of his tongue on the underside of the mound of her breast, the caress electric, too painfully exquisite to bear. “Mike. Please.”

  “Soon.” He spoke around a mouthful of areola. Hot air skittered a fire-and-ice sensation over the circle dampened by his maddening skip and touchdown suckling. “To me, mate.”

  Nothing could’ve been more arousing than the sight of him looking up from under at her; the thin silver ring of his eyes blazed, and the dilated black onyx of his pupils blared his intent. “Again. Say it again.”

  “Yours.” She croaked the answer, and the submission shattered any remaining inhibitions. The orgasm hit her the second his teeth clamped down on her breast and his thick fingers scraped her clit. Convulsions ripped through her, a shuddering series of ecstatic spasms streaked from the tingling roots of the hair he held fast to the tips of her curled toes. Her empty vagina contracted, frantic, erratic, rippling pleas for penetration, possession.

  He settled his cock, a molten, heat-radiating weapon, at her center. Grasping a breast in each hand, he met her gaze, thumbed the stinging peaks, and rasped, “Again. Now.”

  “I—”

  He reached down between them and pinched her clit, and that was all it took. She came again, her pussy fisting and releasing in a machine-gun staccato that fried her gray matter. Her head fell to one side, and she gripped the slat so tight a sliver needled under her skin. She surfed the rogue wave, rode the precipice between the twin sensations—the furious climax and the slice of pain—grounded only by her hold on the headboard.

  “Say it again.”

  “Yours.” She ceded over to him. The secret need to yield freed the cave-wolf woman long buried.

  “Mine.” His mouth captured hers, and he thrust into her.

  She climaxed. Her pussy expanded and sucked at the engorged length of his sweet invasion; her vaginal walls worked overtime to accommodate the fat, rigid heat of his hammering cock. Orgasm piled upon orgasm, each climax climbing higher and higher.

  His lips skated down her throat, and his mouth opened over the claim spot, that sensitive clump of nerves buried under the skin where neck and shoulder met. He licked her, once, twice, and sank his teeth over the spot, the nip light but firm. The cadence of his thrusting accelerated, the force near to battering, the pleasure so acute she clawed at him, desperate for the hot jet of his semen, to hear him howl, to inhale that primitive beast smell that signaled the climax tearing through him.

  Melanie knitted her fingers in his curls, tugged his hair until he grunted, held him at that agony-ecstasy point that he had her, and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. His groin hit her clit on each upstroke; his balls slapped at her swollen pussy lips. The twin sensations fueled another peak—short, sharp, delicious vaginal muscle seizures.

  He claimed her, the razor bite of his canines accompanied by the spurts of semen that seared her channel and coated her walls. Melanie hugged him to her, relishing the sweat glazing his back, and smiled when she breathed in and the heady wolf smell of him tickled her nose. He had buried his face in the crook of her neck, and a damp curl settled on her throat when he attempted to lift his head.

  She growled and dug her nails into his flesh. He chuckled, his lips shuffled over the oversensitized claim spot, and aftershocks shivered through her, a series of mini-orgasms that had her reeling.

  Unprepared when he flipped them over and broke the dreamy spell that had her in thrall, she pushed off his pecs and glared at him.

  “Love you.”

  The world crashed and nose-dived around her, spinning in a free fall that would
surely suck her into its self-destructive whirl. To dam the echoing words ebbing and flooding up her gullet, Melanie chomped down on her tongue.

  A lazy, devil-tempting, one-sided grin chased his lips, lips swollen and reddened from her wild nipping. “Mate.”

  He finger-stroked her throat, outlined her mouth. “Mine.”

  What had she done? Melanie couldn’t, wouldn’t meet his stare.

  “Babe, I have some bad news for you.” He reached over, captured her hand, and twined their fingers together.

  A sudden heaviness in the air compressed her ribs and made it impossible to suck in oxygen. She sank down to the comfort of his chest. The images she’d blocked from last night assaulted her vision. She saw the world through a kaleidoscope tunnel, the colors and shapes splintering, fragmenting, and reassembling into unrecognizable shapes. “He was so confused.”

  “Who, babe?” He cradled her to his side. Tipped her chin. “Who?”

  She fisted her hand and shook her head. The vision had been so fast and furious and chaotic. “I don’t know who he is. He called to me.”

  “Who called to you?” He stroked her gently, and the sweet, rhythmic motion soothed the images away.

  Frowning, she cocked her head and squinted, but nothing penetrated the veil shrouding the fuzzy pictures clicking by like an old-fashioned black-and-white movie reel. “I don’t how. It was all muddled together. Regret. It was mostly regret.”

  “Regret?” He traced her eyebrow. “Tell me what happened last night. You scared me out of my mind.”

  It was all too much. Her submission, their elemental coupling, the vision the night before—she had no fight left in her. “I’m a maggishahwi.”

  He frowned.

  Unable to bear his possible rejection, she averted her gaze. “It’s getting late. I need to get to work.”

  He framed her face and forced her to meet his stare. “Look at me. Talk to me. What is a maggishahwi?”

  “A true maggishahwi is a spiritual healer.” She lowered her lids to hide the shame snaking and coiling around her ribs. “I’m not a true maggishahwi. I can’t heal. Only comfort. I hear and feel the last call of a soul. I offer a last comfort. And help the soul on the journey to the spirit world. That’s all I can do.”

  “Oh, babe. You eat me up.” Mike hugged her close and rubbed her back, and the haven of his embrace smoothed the jagged edges of her core. “How can you bear such a burden?”

  “How could I live with myself if I refused a last call?” She buried her nose in the crisp hairs in the middle of his ribs, and closed her eyes as the familiar scent of him enveloped her in a cocoon of warmth and safety. “I’m not sure I even know how not to. It’s not something I’ve ever tried to control. It just sort of happens.”

  “That’s how you knew the cub was male?” He kissed her temple.

  She nodded. “He saw his mother being murdered. But he was too young to understand what was happening. All he knew was that she was in terrible pain. She died realizing she’d failed to protect him.”

  “Do you see it in your mind?”

  Relieved that he didn’t force her to look him in the eyes, she snuggled closer and wedged her head under his chin. “It’s hard to explain. Kind of a combination of flashed images and a gut-deep sadness. At least that’s the way it’s always happened before.” She shuddered. “Not like it was last night.”

  “Tell me about last night.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Before it’s been as if I was watching a video. Not last night. Last night it was as if I saw it through his eyes.”

  “The killer’s eyes?”

  She nodded. “Can we not do this now? I need to put it out of my mind. When I start to remember, this blackness happens at the edges of my vision. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You were almost catatonic last night, babe. I’ll do whatever you need. Just tell me how to help you.”

  “I wish I knew. My grandmother was a maggishahwi too. But she died before she could train me, teach me what to do.”

  “Has this happened all your life?”

  “It started when I was a teenager. At first it was like a distant feeling that something bad had happened. After my grandmother died, it…it intensified. And it’s getting worse. Last night.” Her throat clogged. “And when you brought in the cub, there was this stench… I’m probably overreacting.”

  “I smelled it too, the stench. It’s very real. What about when you and Doc G. went to Eddie Mato’s murder site?”

  She pushed off his chest and met his gaze, surety slamming her in the face. “You followed us.”

  He nudged her chin, grasped her shoulders, and set her away from him. “I followed you. You’re my mate, Melanie. I’ll protect you to the death. I’m an alpha, babe. It’s what I’m born to do. Eddie. Did you smell it then too?”

  “Yes, I did. What is it?”

  “It’s the smell of a ritual black wolf kill.”

  Confusion pulled her brows together. “I thought they were extinct.”

  “That’s what they want us to think.”

  “They?”

  “The black wolves who live among us.”

  “How do you know about them? About the stench?”

  “I don’t know much about them.” He kissed her cheek. “Drake and I have pieced together bits and pieces over the years. I know more about the white wolves than I do the black.”

  “How? All the lore’s passed down verbally from one generation to another. Yet you knew about my grandfather and my father. How?” The whole world seemed to have turned upside down. Melanie rubbed her temples, trying to alleviate a burgeoning headache.

  “After I realized you were my mate, I went to your hometown, Twisp, and did some research. A few of the elders spoke about your grandfather and father. It seemed to be general knowledge.” Mike touched her brow. “Are you sure you should go in to work? Maybe I should drop you home?”

  “No. I need to be busy. Not to think about everything. What do you know about the black wolves then?”

  “I know they’re supposed to be extinct. The stench I know about because I smelled it at the site where my uncle Boyd was killed.”

  Melanie pushed off his chest and sat up cross-legged. “A black wolf killed him?”

  Mike scooted back until he sat against the headboard, and then hauled her sideways on his lap. “That’s my guess. The how, why, and who are part of the reasons Drake and I are here.”

  She stared at him, too confused to speak.

  “We need to have a long, long talk. But damned if I can do it while you sit there all naked and sexy.”

  Horrified at his words, she fumbled for the sheets as a tropical firestorm raced across every inch of exposed skin.

  He chuckled and helped her to drape the cloth over her breasts.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  Catching her face with one large hand, he said, “With you, never at you. I haven’t laughed so much in years. It’s like you’re this dazzling ray of sunshine and cheer. I love that you’re a wildcat in bed and a little librarian other times.”

  Was it possible to fall in love over and over and over again with the same man?

  Because during the last forty-eight hours, he’d made her fall head over heels so often and so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t tumble to the bottom of a hill with a broken crown like Jill in the nursery rhyme. She’d been in love with a dream man, a superhero, a knight-of-the-round-table image forged by teenaged adoration and hopeless, romantic ideals. But the reality, the grim, angry Mike, the Mike who didn’t wear happiness easily, the alpha who’d bullied her into accepting his claim and who’d die ensuring her safety, proved irresistible.

  “We’ll talk more tonight.”

  Tonight? “Mike, I have to go home. I have responsibilities.”

  “Your responsibilities are mine now.”

  The snapped warning inherent in his grouchy tone didn’t escape her notice, but no way would he bully her twice. “You
don’t make decisions for me, Mike Dorland.”

  One dark, alluring brow winged up. She ground her teeth and prepared to do battle.

  “Augustus Balden was murdered last night. The same MO as the bears. I spoke with Drake while you were sleeping. Doc G. will be busy assisting the coroner with the autopsy. There are reporters and TV trucks crawling all over town.”

  “Mr. Balden?” Her brain refused to process his bland statement. “Reporters? TV?”

  By the time Mike finished his explanation, her hands and toes had iced. The sense of dread that had been dogging her since the first bear killing descended over her, trapping her and making his voice echo until she couldn’t decipher a word.

  She focused on the fingers splayed on his pecs, the dark hairs swirling over the tip of one thumb, and glimpsed two jagged red marks below his collarbone. No. No. Melanie chewed the insides of her cheeks. Had she really done that? Scratched him like a wild animal? What must he think of her now? All she wanted to do was fade into a hidey-hole, a crawl space where no one could find her, a dark and silent burrow where she could try to regroup.

  Spiritual healers didn’t behave like she had. Her grandmother had been a gentle, kind person. A proud woman who would never have begged for anything. Humiliation washed over her. She jerked her hands away from his enticing muscles and blurted, “I, uh. The bathroom?”

  Even without looking up she knew he had her under penetrating scrutiny. What little previous experience she had with him had proved the damned man didn’t miss a trick. So she concentrated on relaxing her facial muscles and prayed his wolf senses didn’t pick up on her burgeoning regret.

  “Melanie.”

  The command in his voice couldn’t be ignored. She leveled her chin and skidded to his stare for a half a second and then studied the contrast between the walnut skin stretched taut over a bulging bicep and the snowy white of the sheets.

  “You can’t take it back.”

  She had no choice then. She locked gazes with him, folded her arms, and gritted her teeth. “Watch me.”

  His deep guffaw had her frowning. “What in heck is so funny?”