The Werewolf's Wife

by Michele Hauf

  His fingers slid through her hair. Soft, yet seeking, wanting to direct, yet too gentle to force.

  She dashed her tongue along the length of him, loving the salty sex scent of his skin, his body, his desire. Drawing her tongue along the underside, she traced the engorged vein to the plump cap that fit in her mouth nicely and elicited a gasping groan from her werewolf lover. She tightened her suction and moved over the head, drawing more wanting moans from him.

  Slicking her fingers along the shaft, she decided it was angry hard and beautiful at the same time. She wanted to own it, to own him.

  With a few expert tickles of her tongue along his length, and alternating taking the head into her mouth, she slowly and surely brought him to a precipice until his body shuddered, and the fingers in her hair grasped tightly as he surrendered to a tremendous climax.

  She drank him and licked him and kissed him.

  Ridge stumbled backward and landed on the couch. He drew her to sit on his lap and held her against him. She could feel his body shudder still, his breaths coming rapidly, and his muscles flex against her skin. She had mastered this wolf. Controlled him.

  So why did she feel as if she were missing something?

  “You do that so well,” he muttered, sighing, and letting his head fall against the back of the couch. “I think it’s high time I returned the favor.”

  Now that was the something she’d been missing. Unzipping her pants and tugging them down, Abigail straddled the wolf, and let him do as he pleased.

  Closing her eyes and tilting back her head she surrendered to the loss of the control she desired as his fingers entered her and slicked in and out, tracing her sensitive core, and quickly luring her to climax.

  Chapter 14

  Freezing rain turned the afternoon sky gray, and the restaurant at which they were supposed to meet Ryan’s kidnappers had no working electricity so the only light came from the front windows. As Abigail and Ridge approached from behind the counter, she could make out five men standing before the window. Shadows concealed their faces.

  Ridge, behind her with the unconscious vampire slung over a shoulder, had agreed to let her do the talking. She had no problem taking control of a situation like this. Had done it many times. Control was her thing.

  Control had seemed less important the past few hours, though, when Ridge brought her to one screaming climax after another. Goddess, the man had known how to make her body sing.

  As her heart pounded and her hands grew clammy, she knew this situation was different from most she had controlled. She had a stake in everything going well. And having Ridge right behind her provided support she would have never admitted to needing. And yet, she knew nothing about the opposition. That made every step dangerous.

  “They’re wolves,” Ridge muttered so only she could hear. “Most of them.”

  Wolves? Her heartbeats increased. She had thought them with the Light.

  “Not the one in the middle,” he said. “Could be a witch, but I can’t determine for sure. Be careful. This is not good.”

  The waiting men closed ranks, and the one in the center stepped forward. Behind her, Ridge growled low. Was it too late to let him stand in front and take control?

  Yes, let him be the one in charge. You need him to be. Stop thinking you have to have a tight grasp on everything. Just surrender.

  When she saw the face of the approaching man, Abigail gasped. Her heart thudded, and it wasn’t a good thud. “Miles?”

  Behind her another low growl shivered down her spine. Ridge must have recognized him, too.

  “What is this?” she demanded, forgetting her composure. “You are behind kidnapping my son?”

  “Is that the vampire?” Miles asked in a cold tone. Arms crossed over his chest, he gave no indication he and Abigail had ever had a relationship or even knew one another. “Bring him over here.”

  Now more confused than ever, Abigail nodded to Ridge and he stepped forward and flung the vamp to the floor, before Miles’s snakeskin-boot toes. She tugged Ridge behind her, and he reluctantly obeyed, but she sensed the condemning gaze he had fixed on Miles could strangle with a blink.

  The entire room felt as though it had risen five or ten degrees in temperature, and she could sense the animal nature of the wolves in the prickle of the hair along her arms.

  “Why the wolves?” she asked.

  Miles glanced to Ridge and smirked. “You brought your wolf, I brought mine.”

  With a nod, one of the men flanking Miles bent to inspect the vampire.

  The man she’d once fallen in love with, the witch who possessed fire magic of a level equal to hers, stared at her condemningly. His narrow face had gotten thinner, his sharp chin and cheekbones more defined. His dark eyes that had once looked at her with love, devotion even, now glittered with menace.

  She’d been a fool in love. A fool who hadn’t seen how desperate the man was to own her; Miles had been as obsessive as she had ever been over the years. But that had been the last time she’d gotten foolish over a man. Her eyes had opened on the night he’d proposed.

  And she’d paid for it. Fire could be controlled, but never owned. When she’d most needed her fire magic to protect herself, it had failed her.

  “Miles, if you don’t start explaining right now—”

  He put up his palm, which glowed red, threatening with fire. “Hold your magic, Rowan. You know I can match you for every spell and every lick of flame you throw at me.” Asking to the side, he said, “Is he intact?”

  The kneeling lackey turned the vampire over and tore away the back of his shredded shirt. “He’s been burned. It’s gone.”

  Miles sucked in his cheeks and blew out a heavy breath. The daggers in his gaze were lit with fire sparks. “Now why did you have to go and screw around with the longtooth, Rowan? This tosses a wrench in my plan.”

  “I’ve always been pretty handy with a wrench.” She smirked, but her bravado wilted quickly. “It wasn’t the vampire you wanted,” she challenged. “It was the binding spell he had tattooed on his back.”

  “You don’t get points for the obvious.”

  “What are you up to, Miles? And why involve my son? If you needed a spell, surely you could have found it on your own.”

  “Not this specific one, unfortunately. The grimoire that contained the original binding spell was burned. And I’m not much for a trip to Daemonia to obtain it there. Nor am I a vampire hunter, and when werewolves are involved…”

  “Why not sic your own pack on them?”

  One of the wolves growled, revealing his teeth.

  “They are my pack, of sorts,” Miles offered with a crooked smirk. “Which is why I’d never ask them to act against one of their own. I needed someone to take this vampire from the blood sport.”

  “Doesn’t explain why you would kidnap an innocent child. Miles, what’s wrong with you? I know you can be vindictive, but Ryan has never done anything—”

  “The first son born of two fire witches,” he stated. “Why did you hide him from me, Abigail?”

  He knew. She’d never told him, but only because she’d not once run into him since that fiery eve in Vegas.

  “I did no such thing. Ryan is my son. I’ve raised him on my own. Whoever his father may be was merely a sperm donor.”

  She felt the intensity of Ridge’s presence behind her, and hated herself for what she’d said. It had been meant as a blade to Miles’s heart, but she’d cut Ridge in the process, surely.

  “I chose to raise my son by myself. That’s no one’s business but my own,” she stated.

  “As it should be. I’ve never been much for kids.” Miles toed the vampire. “Unfortunate thing.” With a snap of his fingers, the wolf to his right tugged out a wooden stake from his jacket and lunged for the vampire.

  As ash spumed in the shape of the vampire and dispersed, Abigail grabbed Ridge’s forearm to hold him back. His muscles tensed in her grip and he seethed. His anger permeated her pores and she to
ok it on as her own.

  She wriggled her fingers at her side. They heated and she felt the flow of her blood increase the temperature.

  “As for the sperm donor? You’re not going to play that game, are you? I know I’m the boy’s father,” Miles said. “I can understand you keeping him a secret from me. Sorry about the stake and the fire. Your refusal to marry upset me. You know I don’t like it when people say no to me, Abigail.”

  “You bastard!”

  This time it was Ridge who caught Abigail by both arms and held her from charging the insipid witch. “Stay calm,” he warned in a low voice. “Or you’ll never see your son. And turn down the heat. I can feel it coursing through you.”

  She would not turn it down, because Miles would never relent.

  “Who is this?” Miles directed toward Ridge. “Your underling?”

  “You don’t remember me?” Ridge asked. “I kicked your ass in Vegas.”

  Miles tilted his head, studying Ridge, then nodded. “Interesting. I never thought you’d slum with an animal, Abigail. Bestiality is so beneath you.”

  “Give me my son!” She struggled against Ridge’s hold, and while she knew he had her best interests in mind, she hated that he wouldn’t allow her to unleash her magic. But she didn’t need his permission. “I’ve done what you asked. There’s the damned vampire! Now hand over Ryan.”

  “You destroyed evidence, which negates the deal.”

  “Yeah? Well, you destroyed the whole damn vampire.”

  “I can’t hand over your son.”

  “You never intended to hand him over,” Ridge said. “What were your plans with the spell?”

  “Why, to shackle the boy, of course. You know what happens when the child of two fire witches comes into his own magic? He sucks away the magic from his parents. I can’t abide the loss of power. I’ve worked hard to master fire.”

  “You don’t even care about him!” Abigail raged. “Let me go!”

  “Abigail,” Ridge warned sharply, “be smart.”

  “He’s going to hurt Ryan.” Her hands began to glow red, and Ridge released her with a hiss.

  “That may be the only option now,” Miles announced calmly. “If I can’t bind him from coming into his magic, well then, you leave me no choice but to end his life.”

  “No!”

  “Pity,” Miles said. “Since he is my son.”

  “You have no proof,” Abigail pleaded.

  “Proof?” Miles laughed deep in his chest. “We were exclusive, Abigail. Don’t tell me you were whoring around with other men—”

  Shoved against the counter, Abigail caught herself against the wood, which burned and smoked under her fiery hands.

  “You disrespect Abigail,” Ridge said, “you’re asking for pain, buddy.”

  “Take him out,” Miles ordered his lackeys.

  The werewolves attacked Ridge en masse. Two jumped him from behind, and another swung low with a two-by-four he grabbed from the floor, connecting with Ridge’s knees and bringing him down.

  Abigail flung out a stream of fire toward the wolves, and caught two on the hair, which burst into flames.

  She shrieked as a gush of flame sent from Miles’s hands pushed her over the top of the counter to land on the floor, sprawled. A quick assessment determined the fire had missed her.

  Miles stepped around the counter and gripped her wrists before she could throw more magic at him.

  “You want your son?” he asked. “Bring me the binding spell. I will bind him, and then return him to you. Promise.”

  “Binding will hurt him!”

  “It’s a better option than death, yes?”

  On the other side of the counter the wolves growled and tossed each other about. The counter wobbled, pushed off the floor by impact.

  “I’m giving you one more chance to save him,” Miles said. “I’ll be in contact within twenty-four hours.”

  Rushing around the counter, Miles pressed out a shield of fire from his palm, keeping Abigail back with a wall of flames. She ran toward it, thinking if she could step through it quick enough—

  Ridge grabbed her and pulled her toward the back of the restaurant.

  “No!” She struggled but the wolf had her firmly in hand. “We have to go after them! He’s lying! He’s going to kill Ryan!”

  “Then let’s go after them. Come on!”

  They fled the flames out the back door and raced down the alleyway hugging the building. A black Mercedes peeled out from in front of the restaurant, and a hail of bullets impeded them from racing to the parked pickup. Caught about the waist, Abigail was flung to the ground behind the Dumpster and Ridge crouched over her as a bullet pinged the big metal garbage container.

  “Don’t go out there!” she yelled. “They’ll hit you.”

  “You want me to save your son?”

  She grasped for his pant leg, but he was too quick, and she watched as he dodged a bullet and ran toward the end of the alley. His shoulder hitched back—he had been hit—but that didn’t slow him. He swung around the corner and disappeared from her sight.

  And then he stumbled backward, his body taking another bullet to the hip, and then the arm.

  Scrambling out from behind the Dumpster, she rushed through the black smoke spewing from the restaurant and found Ridge sprawled on the sidewalk. The Mercedes squealed around a corner and disappeared.

  “Ridge?” Blood spurted from his shoulder and hip. The wound on his arm had only abraded the skin. He groaned and pushed her away, trying to stand. “They’re gone. We’ve got to get you medical attention.”

  “I’ll heal,” he growled and this time managed to shove her clear and stand. He staggered, and she caught his arm. The big lug was hurt badly, but the adrenaline rushing through his system probably blinded him to the real pain.

  “I’m sorry, Abigail. I’ve failed you.”

  “You’ve done no such thing. Let’s move.” When she headed for the driver’s side of the pickup, he grabbed her upper arm and swung her toward the passenger side.

  “I’m driving,” he growled. “I am not an invalid. Hurry. We might be able to pick up their trail.”

  He shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb as she was still closing the door. The man was pissed off and injured, and couldn’t be thinking straight. But he was thinking the same thing she was: find those bastards.

  Her son’s kidnapper was Miles Easton. How? Had he watched her over the years, knowing or suspecting Ryan was his son? Why step in only now? If he’d been worried about binding Ryan’s magic it could have occurred any time before puberty. Maybe. She wasn’t sure about that. Probably the witch actually had to come into his or her magic before it was bindable.

  All this time she’d thought she’d been so careful, so protective of Ryan. Hell, she’d thought to hide him away in Switzerland. If anyone were watching her, they’d never find her son so far away. What a joke Miles had made of her protective instincts.

  “I think they went left,” she directed, and Ridge swung the truck across the intersection, barely missing a turning vehicle. “Settle down, Ridge.”

  “I want to rip that bastard’s head from his neck!”

  He slammed a fist on the steering wheel, and the blood pulsing from his shoulder dripped onto the center console.

  “Let me look at that while you drive.” She sat on her knees and ripped the plaid sleeve from his arm. The wound was deep but when she probed it she didn’t feel a bullet, and it looked as though it had bored through his skin and gone right through the back of his shoulder.

  “Ouch. Leave it be! It’ll heal if you stop poking in it.”

  It probably would heal, and quickly, as werewolves were wont. She touched his hip but couldn’t see beyond the bloodied denim. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her, so she sat and leaned her head against the window.

  Tears gushed forth because she had been so close to getting her son back, yet so far away. And now that she knew Miles was behind it, she knew h
e would be ruthless and that Ryan would not be safe from this moment forward.

  “Don’t do that witchy pouting thing,” Ridge snapped.

  She turned her head but couldn’t stop the tears that gushed up from her heart.

  “Shit. Abigail? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Sweetie?” He touched her hair and the blood streaming down his arm spattered onto her gray pants. “We’ll find him. I gotta think that bastard wants the binding spell more than he wants to harm an innocent child.”

  “But binding him will harm him!”

  “Yeah, but the other option…”

  The other option? That was death.

  “Sorry,” Ridge rushed out. “I shouldn’t have said that. And I’m not sure where the hell I am anymore. I don’t know this town. Hell, we’ve lost them.”

  The truck came to an abrupt stop somewhere in a residential neighborhood, and Ridge shifted into Park. He reached across and dragged Abigail onto his lap to hug her against his chest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to reassure her, and that felt better than a promise he couldn’t make.

  “Take me home,” she said on a shiver. “I need to be next to the phone when he calls.”

  Chapter 15

  Abigail crossed the threshold to her home around 6:00 p.m. It was early yet, but she was exhausted. Meeting Miles and not bringing home Ryan had stripped her of all inner strength. She trudged into the living room, her eyes unfocused and her head spinning. With a flick of her finger, she drew the oversize easy chair up behind her and collapsed.

  She wasn’t sure if he had already been in the chair, or if he joined her later, but Ridge was there, sitting beside her, and then holding her on his lap. They both faced the kitchen. The green LED on the oven blinked over to eight-thirty. No phone call.

  Against his chest she lay, his arms cradling her. His breaths were soft, his heartbeats seemed in rhythm to the blinks of the little colon on the digital clock, separating the hour from the minutes. Silence reigned.

  Even Swell Cat overlooked his distrust for the werewolf and wandered in on quiet paws and settled on the couch opposite them to help hold vigil.