Master of Wolves

by Angela Knight

  Reynolds licked his lips as a dark, tempting idea crossed his consciousness. Why not assume a canine form of his own? He’d have a lot better chance of catching her.

  And when he caught her…

  What would it be like doing it as a dog?

  Damn, now there was a kinky thought. But tempting, very tempting. And after two months of being at Celestine’s beck and call, it would be nice to be on top for once.

  Reynolds glanced around cautiously, decided no one was watching, and called the magic, picturing the biggest, blackest rottweiler he could imagine.

  A moment later, he put his muzzle to the pavement and started following Weston’s scent trail.

  Faith popped her Irish setter head around the corner of the police department just in time to see the enormous rottie trot from behind Reynolds’s car. It was all she could do to suppress a yip of excitement.

  The bastard had swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

  And there he came, nose to her scent trail, trotting across the parking lot like God’s gift to Animal Planet.

  All Faith had to do was lead him to Jim.

  She turned tail and loped off, making straight for the Clarkston Fire Department, a big brick building that stood a block away. Where Jim waited, all two-hundred plus lupine pounds of him.

  A menacing growl rumbled in the air. She threw a quick look back over her shoulder to see the rottweiler running in her wake, his massive jaws open.

  Shit. Wouldn’t do to let him catch her. With a yelp, she took off running, hoping she looked suitably panicked.

  Her sensitive ears picked up Reynolds’s triumphant growl as he shot in pursuit.

  Oh, yeah. They had the bastard now.

  Stretching out her long canine body, Faith flung herself into a dead run, dashing across the parking lot for the fire department building.

  Reynolds’s deep-throated bay of excitement echoed as he charged in her wake.

  That’s right, you son of a bitch, she thought grimly. Come and get it.

  THIRTEEN

  Reynolds galloped after Weston, almost drunk on the smell of sex and the trace of fear floating in her wake. He wasn’t even running all out.

  He wanted to enjoy the chase.

  His lips pulled back from his teeth in anticipation. She’d fight him—Weston wasn’t the type to give in. But he was bigger, and he’d been a werewolf longer. In the end, she wouldn’t have a prayer.

  After he had his fun, he’d hand her over to Celestine. Sacrificing the little bitch on top of acquiring the grail would make his mistress a very happy vampire. She’d no doubt reward him well.

  He lengthened his stride, impatient to catch his tempting prey. The red flag of her Irish setter tail disappeared around the corner of the firehouse, and Reynolds sprinted after her.

  The wind shifted, carrying a wild, feral scent. He lifted his head in alarm, but before he could even break stride, something big and black rammed into his side. It was like being hit by the Space Shuttle, a bone-grating impact that sent him tumbling in yipping astonishment.

  The thing rolled with him, snarling like a chain saw, fangs snapping for his throat. Shit! Reynolds twisted, barely managing to kick free before the beast could get a good grip. The other werewolf!

  As Reynolds scrambled back, he saw that a wolf was exactly what his foe was. The bastard was the biggest, blackest beast Reynolds had ever seen, easily two hundred pounds of hard muscle, with a mouthful of teeth that would put a crocodile’s to shame. Reynolds hadn’t even known they could assume wolf form; he’d only stumbled on the dog thing by accident.

  He sure as hell didn’t have time to figure it out now.

  Jaws clamped down on his foreleg. With a howl of pain, he lunged for the nearest target—the wolf’s left ear. His teeth clamped down. Blood flooded his mouth, so hot with magic it was like drinking white lightning.

  Instincts he hadn’t even known he had suddenly kicked in. With a baying howl, he went for the werewolf’s throat.

  Faith was no stranger to bloody fights, but she’d never seen anything like the way Jim and Reynolds ripped at one another. It was one thing to exchange punches or even knife swipes, but tearing at one another with claws and teeth…

  It wasn’t human, a voice in the back of her mind protested. They weren’t human.

  One endless heartbeat later, the two separated with a crimson splatter and began to circle. Blood dripped from Jim’s wolf muzzle and one torn ear, while Reynolds limped on a wounded foreleg.

  The rogue charged Jim, growling savagely. Her lover dodged, snaked his head forward, and sank his teeth into Reynolds’s thick neck. The rottweiler didn’t stop, plowing into him and forcing him over onto his back. Teeth snapped like castanets, punctuating snarls and growls.

  And what the fuck was she doing, standing around doing nothing? So what if she was scared? Jim needed her.

  Taking a deep breath, Faith called her magic, changed from Irish setter to wolf, and charged in. Without letting herself stop to think, she sank her teeth into Reynolds’s thickly muscled shoulder. The taste of fur, dog, and magic flooded her mouth. Blood followed in a burning wave, the taste both revolting and so shockingly seductive, her first impulse was to let go. Conscious of Jim’s danger, she bit deeper instead.

  Faith heard a yip. Something clamped down on her cheek. She jerked away from the fiery pain, yelping as flesh tore. Her Burning Moon temper exploded, and she lunged for Reynolds, snapping at any part of him she could reach. He reared out of range of her teeth, then drove his weight against her chest, rolling her over on her back. Fangs clamped into her throat, cutting off her breath.

  Gasping, Faith struggled, trying to kick her way free. She heard Jim’s deep-throated roar of rage. Teeth snapped. Snarls. Blood splattered across her face. Reynolds yelped and let go. She scrambled clear, panting.

  Jim had his fangs buried in Reynolds’s muzzle as the rottie jerked back and forth, trying to tear away from him. Yeah! They had him! She plunged in and clamped her jaws into the rogue’s haunch.

  With a howl, her foe heaved his body upward, jerking away in a shower of blood. He whirled and ran. Baying like all the hounds of hell, Jim shot after him. Faith raced to catch up.

  Reynolds flew across the road, his bobbed tail tucked against his butt as he ran in desperate bounds. Jim charged after him.

  Right into the path of a pickup truck. Faith screamed a warning, but the words emerged as a strangled howl.

  She saw Jim’s head turn, as he registered the danger and threw himself into a desperate leap…too late. The truck’s bumper clipped his rear haunch, spinning his body through the air. He hit the curb and flipped across the sidewalk, then tumbled down the embankment beyond it. The truck’s brakes screeched.

  Frantic, terrified, Faith shot across the street after him, dodging around the truck and narrowly avoiding an on-coming Honda. Leaping the sidewalk, she galloped down the embankment.

  If he was hurt too badly to Change, he’d die.

  A still, black-furred body lay in a heap at the bottom of the embankment, smeared with blood, barely breathing. His eyes were closed. Faith’s heart crammed its way into her throat as she skidded to his side. Without considering who might be watching—not even caring—she Changed to human form.

  “Jim!” Half afraid to touch him, she laid a shaking hand on his bloodied shoulder. He didn’t move. “Jim, wake up! Please!”

  Nothing.

  “Jim!”

  Finally, a whimper. The bloody shoulder under her hand twitched. Silver eyes opened, dazed.

  “Jim, Change!” Faith stroked his matted fur. She felt sick, her eyes dry and burning. “Please! You’ve got to Change!”

  He blinked and whined softly, the sound tight with pain.

  Desperate, she blinked away the tears and hardened her tone to an authoritative snap. “Jim London, you shift right this minute!” Was it too late?

  He closed his eyes and shuddered with effort. Magic boiled around him, shimmering to her
werewolf senses.

  Then he was blessedly human again, whole and unharmed in his jeans and T-shirt. Silver eyes opened and looked up at her, still a little dazed.

  Faith sagged in relief. “Thank God!” She found herself stroking his handsome, unmarked face. “Didn’t your mother teach you to look both ways before you cross the street?”

  Jim sat up with a groan, rubbing both hands over his eyes like a man waking up from a nightmare. “Yeah, that was stupid. I was so focused on catching that bastard. He hurt you.”

  “Well, that truck hurt you.” She gave him a light slap across one brawny shoulder, having recovered enough to get pissed off. “You scared the crap out of me, London.”

  To her bemused surprise, he actually grinned, pleased. “Yeah?”

  Disgusted, she rose to her feet. “You’re an idiot.”

  He stood. Faith automatically reached to steady him, but he stretched his big body, obviously none the worse for his adventure. “I know. I guess the bastard got away.”

  “Well, I was a little focused on making sure you weren’t bumper pâte.” They started up the hill together. Faith felt almost giddy in her relief.

  “Where’s the wolf?”

  Startled, they looked up. A thin, elderly black man stood on the bank above them, his long face confused. “What?” Faith asked.

  “I could have sworn I hit a wolf.” He scanned the length of the bank in concern, gnarled fists braced on his hips. “Didn’t even think there was any in these parts.”

  Faith glanced at Jim, then back at the bewildered driver. “In the middle of Clarkston? I don’t think so.”

  The driver scratched his head. “Guess not. Thought maybe it had escaped from a zoo or something. I could have sworn…” Shaking his head, he turned and trudged back up the embankment, his red checkered shirt cheery against the blue sky.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jim murmured to Faith.

  Together, they scrambled up the embankment. As they reached the sidewalk, Faith recognized the city’s animal control officer standing in front of the fire department. She tensed. If he recognized her…Luckily, she was wearing her hair down, something she never did on duty. That, combined with her blue jeans and T-shirt, provided something of a disguise from people used to seeing her in uniform. At least from a distance. She hoped.

  “Did you see any stray dogs around here?” he called, showing no sign of recognition. “I got a report three of them were fighting out in front of the department.”

  Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Reynolds had gone. “I think I saw one run that way.”

  The officer sighed and started back toward the police department and his animal control truck. A gust of wind carried his scent into her face. It was free of magical rot. “He’s probably long gone, but I’d better take a look.”

  Afraid he’d recognize her voice, Faith made no answer as she and Jim hurried up the sidewalk toward his car.

  It was the longest block she’d ever walked.

  With a sense of relief, she closed the car door and fell back into the Jag’s glove-soft leather seat. “I’d love to see Reynolds talk his way out of that one.”

  Jim grunted. “He’d probably just eat the poor guy.”

  “Good point. Let’s hope our friend back there isn’t too good at his job.”

  But as Jim waited for an opening in the afternoon Clarkston traffic, Faith’s giddy mood quickly darkened.

  He’d almost gotten killed.

  The memory of Jim carooming off that bumper kept running through Faith’s mind like a news clip on CNN, an endless loop of terror and disaster that made her stomach knot all over again. When she reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, her hand shook.

  Involuntarily, Faith glanced over at him. He met her gaze, his eyes brooding and hot.

  “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I almost got you killed. I should have told you to stay out of it, but I was so intent on killing that bastard.”

  Indignation punctured her funk. “I hope you realize by now that I’m not going to just stand back and wring my hands when you’re fighting for your life. What do I look like, the heroine of some sixties cop show? Give me a break.”

  “Forgot who I was talking to.” His lips quirked. “Nobody could ever mistake you for a coward.”

  Faith frowned, remembering the taste of Reynolds’s blood in her mouth. “Though having said that, I’ve got to admit there’s a big difference between throwing punches and ripping into somebody with your teeth. It’s really…” She broke off, unable to put it into words.

  “Primal.”

  “Not to mention a little disgusting. And when he had me by the throat…” She shook her head. “I thought I was scared when he tried to kill me the first time. This was actually worse.”

  “It’s because you didn’t have hands.” His voice seemed to rumble, deep and dark. “You had to do your fighting with your teeth, which is a hell of a lot more intimate.”

  “Yeah, that’s it exactly. I felt like an animal.” She looked over at him and caught her breath. For an instant, their gazes met. His was hot with male awareness. Inhaling in surprise, she scented the delicious musk of his desire.

  In a heated flash, all her leftover adrenalin and fear found a new focus. Faith swallowed and looked away, battling the effect. After what they’d just been through, neither of them should be in the mood for sex.

  Except it was precisely because of the close call with death that they felt so turned on.

  Faith was familiar with the effect—she’d experienced it before. She and Ron once had the best sex of their marriage after a daylong firefight with a barricaded subject. But even then she hadn’t felt anything like this sudden, clawing lust.

  “During a fight, you’re more in touch with your body.” Jim’s voice dropped even more, taking on a dark velvet note of seduction. “The scent of things, the taste of things. It…affects you. Strongly.”

  Unable to resist, she looked at him just as he darted a hungry look at her breasts. Her nipples tightened behind the scratchy lace of her bra. “I noticed.”

  Involuntarily, her gaze dropped to his lap. The muscles of his thighs flexed under the fabric of his pants. He had an erection. “I want you.” The words were blunt, a deep male rumble of demand.

  “I noticed that, too.” Faith dragged her eyes away. “But in the middle of Clarkston at four o’clock in the afternoon is not the best place to jump each other.”

  “Then we’ll just have to find someplace else to do it.” He hit the gas.

  She clenched her teeth as the Jag responded with a primal roar that seemed to echo her own need. I can hang on until we get home.

  Despite his obvious lust, Jim drove with ruthless control, his big hands steady on the wheel, his gaze locked on the road as he maneuvered the powerful sports car through traffic.

  His lap drew Faith’s fascinated gaze like a magnet. His cock pressed against the fly of his jeans, so hard and thick she ached to free it.

  “Where can we pull over?”

  “What?” Startled, she lifted her gaze to his face.

  “I’m not going to make it home. Where?”

  “Not here, for God’s sake! The cops’ll be all over us.”

  His eyes glittered. “Then you’d better tell me somewhere close.”

  Faith could smell her own desire, just as rich with musk as his. “Make a left.”

  He obeyed, turning the convertible toward the outskirts of town a couple of blocks away.

  She licked her lips and tried for a joke. “Those Burning Moon pheromones are a bitch.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not just pheromones. I have to touch you.” His voice dropped to a low, rumbling register. “He hurt you, dammit.”

  Now, that she could understand. When she’d seen him go airborne off the bumper of that truck, she’d felt the impact in her own heart. It made no sense—she barely knew him—and yet the reaction was too powerful to deny.

  They ha
d to slow down when they hit the elementary school’s traffic, but at last they left it and the outskirts of Clarkston behind. The road wound through thick trees, leaves so green with early spring they almost glowed. The dogwoods were in bloom, their petals shimmering white against the green.

  Spotting the dirt road she was looking for, Faith directed him down it. The sports car jolted over bumps and rocks as it followed the deeply rutted road past sweet gum, oaks, and spindly southern pines.

  Finally they broke from the woods to see a lake spreading before them, glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Faith scanned it cautiously, but there was no one around.

  Jim parked under a stand of trees, then got out without a word. His door slammed, the sound shouting his impatience. As she slid out her side, she felt wet heat between her thighs.

  When they met in front of the car’s nose, he dragged her into his arms. His mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss of hunger and desperation. Faith wrapped herself around him, savoring the feeling of his hard muscled body under her hands.

  The memory of him flying off that bumper made her curl her nails into his skin. His tongue thrust into her mouth in strong, mating digs. Faith answered his desire with a hard roll of her hips. His erection felt like a length of solid steel against her belly.

  Jim dragged his mouth away from hers and began kissing and biting down her chin to her neck. His strong hands found the hem of her T-shirt and jerked it upward so he could delve beneath.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” she said hoarsely. “Running in front of that truck like that.”

  “He had you by the throat,” he growled back, one hand sliding under her shirt to discover bare, aching skin. “All I was thinking about was killing the son of a bitch.”

  “He’s a sociopath,” she agreed.

  Impatient, he caught the hem of her shirt and jerked it up and over her head, revealing the lace bra cupping her breasts. “You wear too damn many clothes,” Jim growled, and grabbed the cups of her bra in both hands. He jerked, and it tore.