Marked By The Wolf (Werewolf Fever #3)

by Juno Blake

  Her vision wavered. Blood was still pumping from her neck and shoulder where Delauncey had bitten her.

  Ciaran screamed, a wordless cry of rage. Delauncey twitched and stumbled as another bullet bit into his side, but it was too late.

  Too late.

  Delauncey’s bite burned in Lucy’s flesh. She felt it sear into her veins, deep into her bones as the mark took hold of her.

  Ciaran roared as the moonlight struck him. The gun fell from his fingers as he began to transform. Lucy stared at him, pleas dying on her lips.

  Delauncey hauled himself to his feet. His lips were pulled back over blood-stained fangs and the expression in his flat gold eyes made Lucy sob.

  He darted forward, licking at the blood coagulating on her chest.

  Mine, the look in his eyes said.

  “No,” Lucy sobbed. “No, this can’t be happening…”

  But it was happening. She could feel his power in her veins, changing her. The flow of blood from her neck slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. She was healing.

  “No, stop—” Lucy moaned senselessly, twisting her head back and forth to force the wounds open again.

  Not this. Please no. I would rather die.

  “Get away from her.” Ciaran’s wolf-man voice was deeper, more animal than his human tone. He stood seven feet tall in the moonlight, the shredded remains of his clothing draped over powerful muscles. His eyes blazed gold with rage. “I said get away from her!”

  Delauncey growled, placing himself between Ciaran and Lucy. His hackles rose as he stared Ciaran down.

  The meaning was clear. She’s mine. Keep your distance.

  “You monster,” Ciaran snarled. “What have you done?”

  His eyes slid past Delauncey, meeting Lucy’s horrified stare. Tears were streaming down her face, but through them, she could see the expression in Ciaran’s golden gaze.

  Anger. Rage. And disgust.

  Dread rose up in her. Delauncey put his mark on me. But that can’t mean—Ciaran wouldn’t—

  “Bastard,” Ciaran spat, turning his searing gaze on the wolf again. “You’ll pay for this!”

  He leapt at the wolf, claws outstretched. Delauncey rose up to meet the blow and the two werewolves clashed, filling the air with snarls and the rip of teeth and claws on flesh.

  A flash of movement at the corner of Lucy’s eye made her whip her head around in time to see one of the other wolves bearing down on her. She screamed, twisting away from it as far as her bond would let her. The wolf’s massive jaws struck the stone column where her head had been a moment before and its body snapped around, crashing into her.

  The thick musky odor of unwashed fur filled Lucy’s nostrils. Her shoulders screamed as the force of the wolf’s blow almost yanked her arms out of their sockets.

  “Help me!” she shrieked as the wolf got to its feet, baring yellowed fangs. One of its incisors was broken off and the creature licked the stump, murder in its eyes.

  A gray flash barreled into it. Lucy’s heart sank as she realized who it was.

  Delauncey.

  Not Ciaran.

  She sobbed as Delauncey ripped at the other wolf’s throat, his claws leaving bloody streaks on its flanks and belly. Lucy didn’t know whether it was Gyre or Crothers who had attacked her. Whoever it was, they hadn’t expected their leader to turn on them.

  The fight was over quickly. The wolf was no match for his alpha.

  Delauncey stood panting over the body of his former packmate. Blood covered his muzzle and dripped down from his jaw.

  “No,” Lucy whispered. He can’t—he just saved my life. Oh, god. “Ciaran…”

  Ciaran didn’t even glance at her. Snarling, he threw himself on Delauncey again. The wolf threw him off and they circled one another, stalking further into the clearing.

  Ciaran was bleeding from a dozen gashes on his chest and arms. Lucy’s heart twisted as she looked at him.

  You are my mate, she wanted to scream. Kill him—take me back—

  She flinched as Delauncey opened another vicious wound on Ciaran’s side. Ciaran snarled and leapt, burying his teeth deep in the wolf’s flank—and Lucy’s blood ran cold.

  Ghostly pain seared into her side, where Ciaran had wounded Delauncey. No. Please no.

  She was Ciaran’s mate. Their bodies burned for each other, desire weaving their lives together with silken ropes.

  But Ciaran had never claimed her. And now that she bore Delauncey’s mark… she was changing. Her body was changing.

  But not my soul, she begged silently, sobbing. Not my mind. Not my love…

  The mark didn’t have that much power, did it? It couldn’t force her to bond with Delauncey.

  Like the werewolf fever forced you to mate with Ciaran? a treacherous voice whispered in her head.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lucy gritted her teeth. No. She loved Ciaran. It was more than just the mate-bond that kept them together. He had shown her a new way to live; things about herself she never knew existed. She would never betray him.

  She sat up. Crothers, or Gyre, or whatever wolf it was who had bled out his life under the moonlight, had snapped the rope around her neck when he attacked her. She pulled it off, freeing herself from the column. Now she only had to free her hands, and she would—what?

  Her eyes caught on the greasy glimmer of the gun Ciaran had dropped. Grim certainty steadied her heart. I’ll free my hands, get that gun—and finish this.

  The column was made of square blocks of stone. Most of its edges were smooth with age—except where the wolf had smashed against them.

  The broken stone was pale in the moonlight. Lucy knelt in front of it, raking her wrists back and forth over the sharp edges.

  The rope frayed, then gave so fast that Lucy toppled forward. She steadied herself on the gate post, and turned around, putting the post between herself and the fight.

  The knowledge that there was still another wolf out there in the shadows was like ice in her veins. Whichever one of Crothers and Gyre that Delauncey hadn’t just killed. They would be watching the fight—they would have seen what Delauncey did to their packmate.

  Lucy stilled herself. They would wait to see who won the fight, and then jump in and finish off the survivor.

  She didn’t have any time to waste. One more glance around the clearing—no sign of the missing wolf—and then she darted out from behind the column, eyes fixed on the gun.

  Her leg muscles creaked from being still and cold so long, but she couldn’t let herself fail. The gun was six feet away. Four. Two—

  Lucy scooped up the handgun just as her foot skidded on a mossy stone. Her legs shot out from under her and she rolled, the gun knocking against her ribs.

  She rolled onto her knees, fumbling with the gun. It was slick with water. Or blood. Lucy didn’t look closely enough to find out. She slid her finger onto the trigger.

  The gun was heavier than she had expected. Her hand was shaking and she had to support it with the other one. She blinked cold sweat out of her eyes.

  Lucy raised the gun just as Delauncey threw Ciaran into a crumbling wall. The wolf reared up, ready to descend on the wolf-man and deliver a crushing blow. Lucy took aim.

  She squeezed the trigger once, and then something slammed into her back.

  The gun skittered away across the cobblestones. Lucy watched it, winded and half-stunned. Get it back. She reached out.

  Claws dug into her back and the world spun. The wolf flipped her over. It was a ragged, dull tan color, like rotten wood. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it snarled at her.

  Lucy thrust herself backwards, feet scrambling against the mossy ground. Her arm was still outstretched—she strafed her hand across the stony ground—there!

  Her fingers closed around cold metal. She grasped the gun and swung her arm viciously, cracking the gun across the werewolf’s muzzle as it snapped at her. The wolf yelped, hesitating—and that was all the time Lucy needed to shift her grip on the gun and sque
eze the trigger again.

  The gun bucked in her hands. She had aimed at the werewolf’s throat; she didn’t wait to see what would happen. Lucy threw herself backwards, away from the creature.

  Her heart drew her into the courtyard, to the fighting werewolves. To Ciaran, she told herself. She struggled to her feet. There were no noises from behind her, for which she was glad. She didn’t want to look at what she had done.

  Ciaran and Delauncey were at each other’s throats. The ruins around them had been shattered by the violence of their battle. Claw-marks crisscrossed the paving stones, huge swathes torn from the ancient moss growth.

  Ciaran was covered in blood. He held himself carefully, favoring his left side where a gruesome bite wound dripped blood. Lucy’s heart twisted, sending icy shards into her chest.

  “Delauncey!” she screamed, raising the gun.

  On all fours, Delauncey swung his massive head to face her. His grey fur was black in the moonlight, like some twisted perversion of what Ciaran’s wolf form might have looked like—except Delauncey’s pelt was black with blood. But his eyes were still the same soulless, pale gold she remembered.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger. “You’re never going to hurt anyone ever again,” she said, and—

  No. No, this can’t be happening—

  Her aim wavered. A battle was raging inside her, a burning fire that threatened to consume her. Delauncey’s mark.

  It’s trying to take me over. Trying to make me his. I won’t let it!

  She scratched frantically at the fresh scar on her neck with one hand, as though she could scrape the mark from her skin. Her hand holding the gun trembled. It moved as though it had a mind of its own, trying to turn the gun away from Delauncey, trying to aim it at—

  “No!” Lucy screamed, and squeezed the trigger for the last time.

  She was aiming directly at Delauncey’s head. A silver bullet would cut through his flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter, leaving a wound no amount of healing could fix.

  But nothing happened.

  She stared down her arm at the gun. Her finger was tight around the trigger. Wasn’t it? Didn’t she want to shoot Delauncey, kill him for what he’d done to her, and what he’d done to Ciaran?

  She tried to pull the trigger again, but her hand was paralyzed.

  “Why won’t you die?” she sobbed through gritted teeth. “Why can’t I kill you?”

  Delauncey raised his face to the moon and howled, a spine-chilling cry of victory. Lucy fell to her knees. No. I want to kill him. I can’t be like his—I can’t lose myself, not like this—

  I’d rather die.

  Delauncey wanted to kill her, didn’t he? He’d told her so. That was part of him plan. Mark her, take her from Ciaran—and then murder her.

  Lucy threw down the useless handgun. Maybe that’s still his plan.

  "Kill me, then!" she cried out, and broke into a run. Delauncey bared his fangs at her in a vicious lupine smile.

  Behind him, Ciaran roared.

  The wolf-man rushed Delauncey, catching him off-guard. Ciaran slammed the wolf to the ground, tearing at him with renewed fury. Delauncey’s faded gold eyes rolled to fix themselves on Lucy at the same moment Ciaran wrapped his claws around his throat.

  Ciaran threw the wolf across the clearing. Delauncey slammed into the same gate post Lucy had been tied to, so hard she heard his spine crack. The wolf-man bounded after him, leaping onto the top of the gate post. He surveyed the fallen wolf, and slowly, almost casually, reached down to strip a rusted length of metal from the ancient wall.

  Lucy’s eyes widened. The ruined walls around the crumbling ruins—walls topped with metal—it was all so familiar.

  She had wondered why Delauncey had brought her here. But she hadn’t questioned why Ciaran had known to come here, too.

  Now, things were starting to fall into place.

  Ciaran brandished the tarnished length of silver, holding it like a spear.

  Delauncey’s eyes found Lucy’s again. She tried to look away, but her whole body was frozen, paralyzed on the cold stony ground. Delauncey kept her pinned under his pale gaze even as Ciaran drove the silver spear through his heart.

  Lucy sagged. A tension that had been growing in every atom of her body since Delauncey bit her was suddenly gone, released—she was free. Free.

  Her heart no longer had to protect itself from the invasive mark. It unfurled like a flower welcoming the spring.

  Everyone who had ever threatened her and Ciaran’s happiness was dead. Lucy almost sobbed with relief. She watched as Ciaran descended from the wall, his head low as he inspected Delauncey’s body.

  Then he raised his eyes.

  “Lucy.”

  His voice was rough, uncertain. His eyes went straight to the scar on her neck and narrowed with pain.

  “Ciaran,” Lucy breathed. She walked towards him, feeling as though she was floating through thick mist. All she could see was Ciaran. Her mate.

  “Lucy,” Ciaran said again, his voice tinged with desperation. “Lucy, you have to leave.”

  Lucy’s stride faltered. The mist crept in at the edges of her vision, cloying and cold. “What?”

  “Go,” Ciaran barked. His eyes were still locked on to the mark on her neck.

  “Ciaran, look at me. Look me in the eyes. Tell me what’s going on—”

  “Lucy!” Ciaran’s voice was a ragged roar, half-animal. “Get out of my sight! I can feel it—already—what Delauncey did—leave now, or I’ll kill you myself!”

  Ice caught hold of Lucy’s lungs. The sky was clear, now, and silver moonlight poured down on Ciaran. His wolf-man form was magnificent in the silver light, powerful and ferocious—but this was the first time Lucy had felt real terror when she looked at him.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I—oh, god…”

  Ciaran was hunched over, protecting his injured side. But as Lucy watched, his posture changed. His spine bent, his shoulders becoming heavier—and wider.

  His whole body was transforming. Lucy stood frozen, eyes wide.

  Black hair sprouted from the wolf-man’s skin and his face cracked and stretched, his jaw growing into a fang-filled muzzle. Ciaran’s back legs snapped, the knees turning backwards, and he fell to all fours.

  In less than a minute, he was a true wolf.

  Lucy was breathless with wonder. Ciaran’s wolf form was incredible. His pelt was midnight black, like a sky that had never seen the sun or stars. Muscles rippled under it, a promise of power that made Lucy tremble.

  My mate, she thought, proud tears pricking at her eyes. This is everything he ever wanted. To be a true werewolf. To find his wolf at last.

  The wolf-Ciaran raised his head. His eyes blazed gold. They were the same eyes Lucy had seen so many times before—but this time, they were different.

  The wolf bared its teeth in a snarl. Lucy stepped backward, as though the noise was a solid force driving her away.

  She searched the golden eyes for any trace of the man she loved, but found nothing. Only the animal. Only the wolf.

  Lucy’s breaths became shallow. Panicked. She realized her mistake.

  The wolf was not the man. The wolf was never the man. Ciaran had been clear about that. Even mated wolves avoided their human partners during the full moon, until they had given them the mark.

  The mark made a human mate safe—to the wolf who gave it to them.

  Not to any other wolf.

  Lucy bore Delauncey’s mark. Ciaran’s wolf wouldn’t recognize her as Ciaran’s mate.

  He only saw her as prey.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was no love in the wolf’s golden eyes. Only a predator’s cold assessment of its next victim.

  Lucy ran.

  Her feet slapped again the cold paving stones. She raced across the courtyard, over the scratched and broken remnants of Ciaran’s battle with Delauncey.

  The clearing was too open. A deep, primitiv
e part of her brain shrieked at her to get under cover. She was too vulnerable with nothing at her back, nothing to stop the wolf from catching her.

  She wheeled to the left, putting a crumbling wall between herself and the wolf, and aimed for the trees.

  The stones under her feet turned into thick leaf mold and the crackle of fallen needles and branches. Lucy adjusted her stride, driving her toes into the earth and pushing off.

  Run. Run. Run. Ciaran’s final command thudded in her heartbeat. Run.

  Lucy sprinted blindly through the forest. Low branches whipped against her arms and face, spurring her to move faster. Run.

  A crashing noise behind her made her heart almost stop in her chest. She leapt forward, fear electrifying her limbs. Her mind was flat with terror.

  Somewhere deep inside her, a tiny voice fought to be heard over her terrified heartbeat.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Focus.

  You don’t want to die. Not now that Delauncey is gone.

  Not at Ciaran’s hands.

  Lucy’s lungs constricted, a keening sob squeezing out. Ciaran. What would he do when he woke up in the morning, human again, and found all his fears had come true?

  Delauncey might be dead, but he could still win. Maybe that had been his plan all along. If he thought being exiled was as good as being dead…

  He wanted to destroy Ciaran. And this will destroy him.

  Her lungs were burning. The trees were getting thicker, growing more closely together. Lucy darted between two towering trunks and almost tripped over a protruding root. She recovered and pushed off another tree, changing direction but keeping her momentum.

  Behind her, branches snapped.

  Lucy felt like a deer on a nature program, fleeing her inevitable doom. The wolf would chase her until she was exhausted. He would catch her long before the moon set. He would—

  No!

  Lucy gritted her teeth, breathing hard. She needed a plan.

  The house. The car—

  Which way was the path? Lucy tracked back in her head. Turn right. The car, or the house, if she could get to them, might not keep the wolf out forever, but maybe for long enough. She only needed a few hours. Ciaran only needed a few hours. Then they would both be safe.