Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1
Imprints
Two pack masters discover an unyielding love in one woman by altering customs and forming new traditions destined to change the Wyoming Territory forever. Imprinting upon and sharing a lover, the Alphas realize their packs must join together, but they will face great opposition when their chosen mate is confronted with a wrenching decision.
Pack masters Frank Smith and Jock Corrigan aren’t enemies, but they aren’t exactly friends. Still, their similar fates have been altered by an unusual union they cannot deny. Their relationship with Carla Cassidy forces several wolves to make their independent choices. One will stand with the newly formed pack, but another will fall victim to his own selfish needs and motives. A group of new shifters will emerge and change the course of history, but not before the expanding pack’s goals are tested and tried.
Note: This book contains double vaginal penetration.
Genre: BDSM, Historical, Shape-shifter
Length: 21,853 words
IMPRINTS
Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1
Natalie Acres
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
IMPRINTS
Copyright © 2013 by Natalie Acres
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-815-1
First E-book Publication: March 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINTS
Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1
NATALIE ACRES
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
“Get on up out of here!” Carla waved her hands in front of two wolves as they backed her into the barn. “Shoo! Go on now! Shoo!”
Joy, Carla’s aging loyal mare, stirred in a nearby stall, alerting her to a grave fact. She’d led two of nature’s most feared beasts to her most vulnerable and prized treasure.
The larger black wolf flattened his ears and lifted his nose high in the air as if he were sniffing out the possibility of present dangers. Turning his head to his flank, he seemingly transmitted messages to the grey-and-white animal at his side.
Slowly, they rotated their heads once more. Cold, fierce eyes watched her. Low, throaty growls demanded and kept her attention.
Judging their body language, Carla was scared to make another move. Silently, she prayed they’d find her more intimidating than she found them. Behind her, Joy pranced and neighed.
“I won’t let you have her,” Carla whispered, assuming they must’ve been more interested in four-legged prey rather than a thin woman with little meat on her bones.
The small grey wolf ducked his head and lifted his gaze. Baring his teeth, he snapped at the larger beast then darted out of the barn, disappearing into the high emerald-green grass behind the outhouse.
“One down. One to go.” Carla took a step backward. The intimidating creature stalked forward.
The wolf’s dark eyes appeared blacker and wider then. For a split second, she felt a smidgen of familiarity and she couldn’t help but wonder. Were rumors true? Were the wolves of Wyoming part animal, part human?
“You must be the Alpha of the pack,” she whispered, more to herself than to her uninvited guest.
Sniffing wildly, the wolf flung his head high in the air and released an ear-piercing howl. Doused in fear now, Carla threw herself to a pile of sawdust and grabbed an old board before facing her enemy once more. Clutching the lumber, she swung the wood behind her back, gripping her only limited means of defending herself.
Instead of tucking his tail between his legs and running for the hills, the wolf howled louder, leaving her to believe he was summoning the rest of his pack.
A tremor of fear shook through her body. After the grey wolf had fled, she’d celebrated a small mental victory. Now, as the black beast pursued her, she realized her luck hadn’t improved. In fact, the other animal’s unexpected departure symbolized something much darker.
She was doomed.
Chapter One
Grant Ford paced the small one-room cabin. His wild auburn-colored hair fanned around his shoulders as he took long strides, walking from wall to wall. “How long has she been out?”
Jock stroked his chin in deep thought. “A few hours.”
“Damn good thing you made it here when you did,” Grant said. “How’d ya know they were comin’ for her?”
“Too much activity in town,” Jock explained. “Then I heard that howl and something inside me just knew.”
“Bullshit, Jock Corrigan. You was a-spyin’ on her again. I know ya. I’ve seen ya makin’ yer way down to the river every day just a-waitin’ for her to mosey on down and dip her toes in the water.”
A smile tugged at Jock’s lips. Carla’s toes were the last thing on Jock’s mind when he darted through the thicket and loped toward the Laramie River.
“Ever consider waitin’ on a sidekick?”
>
No. He hadn’t given it a second thought then and he wouldn’t apologize for that fact now. If he hadn’t been waiting for Carla, he wouldn’t have heard her screams or another shifter’s terrifying cry, the undeniable and quite universal Alpha male wolf’s call to the wild.
Jock swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t help but blame himself. He’d marked his territory, but he hadn’t protected his mate. He’d staked a claim, but even Carla didn’t know she belonged to him. Why would he expect another wolf pack, especially another Alpha, to honor a commitment he’d yet to make public, let alone privately acknowledge?
Grant kept pacing, kicking up a few dust clouds as he marched across Carla’s packed dirt floor. “Yep, siree. I’ve been sorta wise to ya for a month of Sundays now. You’ve been a-goin’ down to the water on a scheduled base and—”
“Regular basis?”
“That, too, I reckon,” Grant said, nodding his head. “And while she’s been bathin’ the kitty, you’ve been duckin’ behind trees and bangin’ one out for her. I know. I’ve seen ya a time or two. It’s plumb embarassin’ if ya wanna know the truth.”
Jock set his jaw and thinned his lips. Motioning for Grant to follow him, Jock stomped out of the cabin. Carla would awaken soon. The last thing he wanted her to hear was Grant’s accusation that he’d been whipping the one-eyed trouser snake while watching her take a bath.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jock asked, about as furious as a bunch of hornets buzzing around their newly crushed nests.
Grant took a sudden step backward as if Jock’s words had struck him in the face. “I don’t reckon a thing, but thanks so much for askin’.”
Jock glared at Grant. They’d known one another all of their lives, but Jock still couldn’t tell when Grant was making jokes or teetering along the lines of the drunk and stupid.
“Have you been drinking today?”
“Yep,” Grant readily admitted.
“I thought we talked about this,” Jock said. “That woman in there is dead set against liquor. How do you think we can win her favor when one of us is always drunk?”
“Geez, Jock, you shoulda said somethin’. I had no idea you’d been drinkin’ so much of that devil’s juice.” Grant copped a crooked smile. “Well, you ain’t gotta worry ’bout the little lady. I’ll take care of her jest fine until you sober up. Why don’t ya run along back to the den? If she wakes up, I’ll yowl for ya.”
“I wasn’t talking about myself and you dang well know it. I’m not kidding around here, Grant. Carla is a good woman. If you keep drinking like you do, she won’t have a thing to do with us.”
“When it comes to women and whiskey, I don’t see where one would stand in the way of the other. In fact, if ya ask me, one could be closely related to the other.” He waggled his brows. “I mean when ya stop and think about it, men like two things on their breath—fine whiskey and the purest of pussy.”
“For the love of God, Grant,” Jock said, beginning to wonder why he even tried to reason with a man who always had his brains in a bottle. At one time Carla had enjoyed Grant’s humor and light personality. In recent months, however, she’d begun to back away from Jock because of Grant’s drinking and his crude comments, which only worsened with age.
“Alls I’m sayin’, friend, is that if Carla ain’t interested anymore, it ain’t for my lack of tryin’. I’ve had a few heart-to-hearts with her and I jest gather her dependable ticker ain’t keepin’ time with us anymore.”
“Are you sure it isn’t your heart we’re talking about here?”
“It ain’t me, friend,” Grant assured him.
“It’s the drinking, Grant. That’s all it is,” Jock said, walking to the cabin once again. Before he entered, he said, “I’m thirty-three years old. Since my poor momma died—God rest her soul—I haven’t felt anyone’s love for longer than a minute.”
“I know it.” Grant slowly nodded his head. “A few times we’ve come real close, but we ain’t got there yet.”
“Do you know why?”
“Well,” Grant began by crossing his arms and looking at Jock in the eye, “I wasn’t gonna say anything ’bout this, but since you mentioned it, I best tell ya.”
Jock felt his nostrils flare. Why did he have a sneaking suspicion Grant planned on pointing fingers in his direction?
Grant rolled his bottom lip over his top as if he were in deep concentration. “Fact is, Jock, I think Carla likes polishing the pearl on her own-some.”
“Her lonesome?”
“That, too,” Grant said, sighing. “Ya gotta stop and consider this. Why does she need a man if she’s able to do just fine on her own?”
Jock felt his skin heat. Did Grant know something Jock didn’t? Had he seen her pleasuring herself when Jock had only had the opportunity to watch her bathe? “What do you mean?”
Grant shoved one leg forward and twisted his boot back and forth, studying the toe as if he had kicked somebody’s ass and still had the blood and guts on his leather to prove it. “Look around here at this place. She does all right for a single woman. Why does she need a man when she earns her keep without one?”
“For the same reason those whores back in Carson City needed a man. You think good women don’t enjoy sex?”
“It’s been a while since we’ve visited Carson City,” Grant said, stars practically forming in his eyes.
“You know what I meant. Women don’t need to work in saloons, strike poses at the piano, and charge for it in order to enjoy spreading their legs for a man.”
Grant snickered. “I know all about good women enjoying sex.” He paused and glared at the cabin door. “But after what I’ve seen Carla do—well—I ain’t one hundred percent certain she’s a good, decent woman.”
“Explain.”
“Let me backtrack first,” Grant said, poking his index finger high in the air. “She is definitely good. Fact is, she is so damned good she doesn’t need a man around to do what she can easily do all by herself.”
A spark of curiosity tickled Jock’s nape. “What are you saying?”
“Exactly what I said.” Grant pointed at the barn and lowered his head as if he were about to reveal something he should keep to himself. “Jock, Carla keeps stuff up there in that loft that I’ve never seen a painted lady use.”
Jock’s body went rigid. “Like what?”
“You’ll have to go see for yourself. I’d be plumb embarrassed to make a mention of it.”
“You brought it up,” Jock reminded him.
A broad smile popped up on Grant’s face. A few beads of sweat peppered his brow. “Here’s the straight of it—I got a wee bit different theory about why that Wyoming Wood Pack came here lookin’ for Carla and their goals don’t have a thing to do with what you’re thinkin’. They didn’t come here because you marked a territory. Nope, siree. They came here lookin’ for Carla because they’d heard her a-hollerin’ and a-carryin’ on.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Carla? She recently purchased a bunch of rope. She has a board she’s made into a paddle. I’ve seen a few of ’em as a matter of fact. Then—and this is the best of the news I’m sharin’ with ya—she uses this real smooth stone and sticks it up her privates.”
Grant crossed his arms and tucked his hands at his armpits. His brows furrowed and his lips formed a tight line. He nodded and carried on like he was sitting on the biggest secret in the West.
Jock remained quiet and still, expecting Grant to continue his story, if for no other reason than to exaggerate to the fullest. Or outright lie.
“I’ve seen her with my own eyes or I’d never believe it.”
“What else?” Jock asked, assuming there must’ve been more.
“Well, she does this ceremonial thing with candles.”
“Candles?”
Grant glanced over his left shoulder and then his right, acting downright suspicious then. “Wax.”
“She dribbles candle wax on her body?�
�
“Seen it with my own eyes, I tell ya. The whole thing is sorta wicked if ya must know.”
“Why are you just now telling me all this?”
“I’ve been meanin’ to get around to it, but we’ve been kindly busy.”
Like hell. “So what you’re telling me is that Carla lets another pack master tie her up and use candle wax on her?”
“I never said for certain.” Grant frowned. “By the way, where did you find Carla today?”
“She was in Joy’s stall. She must’ve been trying to save that mare.”
“Can’t say that I blame her. Joy is her only friend.”
“And what are we exactly?”
“Two men who happen by here every now and again. One of these days, we’re gonna stop in for a minute and I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen. Wanna know?”
“Not really.”
Grant waved his hand in front of his face. “Course ya don’t. I’ll tell ya anyway. We’ll knock on Carla’s door and some fella—a hair or two smarter than either one of us—will greet us. Before you know it, we’ll be staring down the wrong end of a rifle.”
“The hell you say.”
“I expect it may happen soon,” Grant said flippantly. “Besides, Carla Cassidy is famous in Wyoming. Some say she was Butch Cassidy’s wife. Still others believe she’s his little sister or cousin. A right smart amount of people stop by just to say hello out of nothin’ more than curiosity. One of these days, our Carla is gonna open up the door and greet her husband.”
About that time the old rickety front door slowly opened.
Imprints [Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 1
