His long lope covered the ground quickly. He knew the area well, and put his knowledge of Joseph together with the landscape and her howl to find her general location. As he neared, he heard her guttural growls and smelled the scent that had imprinted itself on him.
Through the brush, he thought he saw her. Her rich brown pelt glowed under the rays of the moon. She looked up and his breath caught. Her brown eyes, full of pain and sorrow, glowered at him before she fell over. He jumped over the brush and landed near her at the same time another wolf growled at him.
“Lance, out of my way. I saw her first,” Boris, the pack’s feral enforcer for Roxy growled.
“I’ve been following her. She’s mine,” Lance responded fiercely. He would die before letting Boris near her. “You can see she’s caught in a hunter’s trap. She’ll be maimed for life,” he added knowing Boris’ distaste for imperfect females.
Boris’ low growl of challenge stopped abruptly as the black wolf actually looked at the wolf in contention. “You’re lucky this time, Lance. She is indeed inferior and not worthy of my attentions. See her body is disposed of after she dies. We can’t have any investigations out here.”
Lance barely controlled his temper at Boris’ cavalier attitude. “I’d planned on it. It’s part of my job to clear the area,” he ground out in his raspy werewolf voice. Reminding himself it was Boris’ very prejudice saving both his and her life, he struggled against the wolf’s heart which wanted to protect its mate from any potential danger. The need to attack one who would hurt his mate was strong. He held his breath to keep the growl back and dampen the call to fight before it overrode his sense, and he launched himself at the pack’s feral.
When he was sure Boris had actually left and was not hiding in brush nearby, he changed to his human form. He took the trap apart, breaking the mechanism so no wild animal or any of his pack mates could get caught in it. Gently, he lifted her paw and looked at it.
Great swells of emotion started in his gut, moved up his chest, and threatened to choke him. Having numbed his emotions for years to hide from the pain and shame of Roxy’s treatment of him, he could not define the feelings swamping him. Reverently, he set her paw down on the pine needles and stroked the fur on her face. She had pushed herself much too hard, and he wondered if it was her first change. Whoever she was, she needed medical attention. However, he couldn’t take a chance of being seen getting it for her, or they’d both be dead.
Nonetheless, he slid one arm under her shoulders and neck, and one under her hind legs, then lifted her close to his chest. Lance rubbed his cheek against her fur as much to comfort himself she lived as to give her comfort. She was belly up to him, and he could see her markings as well as a small scar. He clenched his teeth and began walking.
She had the mark.
His mate was aswan, not born werewolf but made. Roxy would be apoplectic when—if—she heard. Lance began jogging. His wiry form held more strength than his pack credited him with. Desperation clawed at him, and his mind filled with worry. He had to risk going to the home of the other pack’s leader, Nolan Littlebull, and beg him to protect her. Thankfully, Nolan lived close to the neutral territories.
Lance’s muscles rippled as he moved, his naked body absorbing the caresses of the wind saying, “Hurry!” against his skin. Sweat poured from his forehead down on the rich brown fur of the woman he would never claim. Although he couldn’t mate with her in their traditional ways, he would protect her no matter the cost.
Lungs burning as he sucked in the ever cooling winter night air, he ran. So far to go. What if I can’t get her to the Ulfric in time? Tears joined his sweat in droplets, but he didn’t bother to wipe them. When his lungs refused to suck in enough air to support his run, he slowed to a walk.
In an effort to try to save time, he cut across fields and through orchards as he got closer to the few towns on the reservation. There were no large towns between him and his destination, but he didn’t trust in luck. The moon was a large orb on the horizon before he found the place—and stopped dead in his tracks at the end of the long driveway.
The truck usually parked outside the garage was not there. It hadn’t occurred to him that Nolan might not be home, although he realized too late it should have. He began slowly walking down the driveway anyway, not knowing where else to go. Each step agonizing as his calves screeched in protest. He heard a car turn onto the gravel driveway and turned around. The lights of the vehicle blinded him, and all he could do was squint.
“Hey,” a voice called out.
Nolan. Lance recognized the Ulfric as he stepped out of his still running truck. Lance fell to his knees. Nolan quickly covered the ground between them and helped him to his feet. He swallowed hard. Now that the time had arrived, he couldn’t find his voice to say the words which would put her out of his reach forever.
Nolan put an arm under Lance’s shoulders and steered him to the passenger side of the truck, not saying anything more. Lance, grateful for the reprieve, let himself be helped up into the truck, never letting go of his cherished package. The driveway wasn’t long enough to give him time to say goodbye to his beloved who wouldn’t recognize him once she woke up.
“You’re the Wahpawhat’s Ulfric,” Lance stated as the truck came to a stop.
“And you’re a long way from home, Lupin,” Nolan replied.
“I need help. I didn’t know where else to turn.” He stopped and swallowed hard. Where to begin? How did he explain all the sights and feelings flowing in him when he did not understand them?
“If you walked from Lupin territory, then you need to come in. I’m going to carry the wolf upstairs. You aren’t known as one of the alphas of your pack, but I sense you could be. I’ll leave it to you whether I come back for you or not.”
Lance nodded. There was both respect and threat in the other man’s words. Respect for him because of the length he had gone to in order to save the female wolf. A threat if Lance were to disappear before the Ulfric had satisfied himself with the answers and maybe his physical condition. Lance waited while Nolan came around the truck and opened the door.
“It looks as if she’s been caught in a trap,” Nolan said as the truck’s dorm light hit her body. “She’s lost a lot of blood. She should have a doctor.”
“There’s a doctor, a healer from our pack who works at the hospital in Toppenish, but—” he hesitated. How do you tell the alpha male of a warring pack what to do? Very carefully. “You can’t go there. You must not see her. I...” He hung his head down, fearing Nolan’s reaction. “I have visions. If you see her now, it will end badly.” Might end badly anyway, but it wasn’t time for them.
“I’ll stabilize her here, and call for Kamiakin to help me.” Lance had no idea whom he meant. “He’s my new lieutenant. He can take her in.”
Lance nodded, but wrath and jealousy threatened to consume him. If he didn’t believe her life depended on this man, he wouldn’t have brought her. Having brought her, he needed to trust whomever Nolan entrusted her with.
“She’s—” he croaked, tears forming. The last time he had shed tears was years ago, and now for the second time in one night, he felt the wetness on his dark cheeks. “She’s important to me. You must save her from my pack, and never let Boris see her or smell her. He will know. I told him she was dying. That I would make sure of it.”
“I take it Boris is not likely to forgive you for this.”
Lance shook his head. The circumstances were so complicated they gave him a headache thinking about them. The Wahpawhats had a reputation for toughness but fairness. She would have a chance with them, which reminded him that he had not told the Ulfric the important part. “There’s something else,” he said slowly.
“What,” Nolan asked already washing the blood off her fur.
“I think this is her first change. She has the mark near her shoulder just there,” Lance said, using it as an excuse to touch her. She whimpered, and his heart melted as he gave her an extra loving
stroke. “Roxy will kill her if she sees that. She says made werewolves are an abomination, and there’s a kill-on-sight order out on them.”
“Which you’ve broken,” Nolan said.
“Which I’ve broken,” he acknowledged. “And will break again. She’s the Lupa, but she cheated to get there. I’ll follow her for the good of the pack, but I will not kill innocents such as this one,” he said fiercely.
“Okay. I’ll take care of her. Right now you need to go lie down in my guest room. That’s an order from an alpha. I’m not your Ulfric, but...” Nolan said, not finishing.
He didn’t need to. Unless Lance wanted to challenge the man, he had to do as told. “I can’t stay here,” he said in protest even though he had started to where Nolan pointed.
“You’re going to rest—and get some of the sweats on from the dresser in there—until Kamiakin can take her to the hospital. Then I’ll drive you as far as we feel is safe. Until then, sleep. We’ll take care of her.”
With some misgivings for letting her out of his sight, he did as directed. First, he took one last look at her in wolf form, imprinting it into his memory safely to store away with his first picture of her standing in the moonlight.
Chapter Three
Present time, western Washington
Roxy Whitekiller wanted to run. Hard. She wanted to kill and maim, and she was stuck in a house in the city. Fury rolled through her for about the hundredth time that day. The infernal rain poured unceasingly for days on end. Something else she hated. Her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her fur—it didn’t matter how she was moving about, she became soaked.
Boris was busy teaching Heather and the housemaid a lesson which she could join in, but she wanted a man to torture. Since she’d lost Lance with the rest of her pack, she needed to find a submissive male to be her bitch. Her body swayed as she walked, pacing the large living room of the old Victorian style house. She gazed with disinterest at the crown molding and exquisite restore job. All she saw were prison walls.
Her frustration mounted as she tried to find out the information she wanted. With Joseph locked up awaiting a pack trial, she only had her accomplice in the police station. All they’d provided was information the Ulfric had taken a week off for personal reasons. She kicked at the eighteenth century tea cart, sending it and the Waterford crystal on it flying.
The resulting crash helped, but only momentarily. She had her leg up, ready for another kick when the doorbell rang. Stomping to answer it because of the unavailability of the house servant, she swung open the door with a snarl.
Twilight reigned outside, the storm making it hard to see past the front walk. Streetlights glowed on the reclusive neighborhood streets, shining their cars up like bathtub toys. Humans, so frail and full of themselves. She hated having to hide her real nature and took it out on the good-looking man before her.
“What the hell do you want,” she snarled.
“I have a message from my alpha,” he said, his voice quaking.
She stopped her tirade and refusal of solicitations which had been at the tip of her tongue and looked the man over more closely. This man was pack. She took a deep breath. Yes, his scent absorbed into her. She gave him a sexy pout. He was paler than her tastes normally ran, but most of Justin’s pack were pale faces.
She took his hand and drew him in like an old time southern belle, pulling him into her web. Shutting the door and leaning on it, she gave him a good once over. Oh yeah. Yummy. His jeans fit tight against his thighs where his jacket ended, hinting at a muscular body underneath all that dreary, winter gear. His green eyes shone brightly with confusion, fear, and lust.
Excitement started pooling in her gut. Maybe her wishes had been granted. “What’s the message?”
“What?” he asked, fear obviously winning over lust.
She tamped down her wolf. The man’s wolf sensed danger, and she didn’t want to spook him. Yet. “From your alpha,” she said with a small amount of impatience.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said and fumbled in his jacket. “Here. It’s a note from him. He said to tell you that what’s in the envelope is a gift.”
Roxy snatched the cream-colored envelope and pulled the flap out. A card? Puzzled, she pulled out the expensive card with gold calligraphy writing on it. The outside was generic, but the inside... Her smile would have warned the weres in her old Lupin pack. Things were about to get scary. It said:
This wolf is a submissive. Train him well for your personal use. I hear he likes it rough with his partners. This is my gift to you for your time of waiting.
She tucked the card back in its envelope with shaking hands. Maybe she would rethink her plan of killing Justin right away. “Do you know what’s in this envelope?” she asked, rubbing her thumb and forefinger over the crease sharply to hide the tremors of excitement.
“No. Justin said to do whatever you said after you read the card.”
The fabric of her bra suddenly became an irritant to her nipples. “Come,” she demanded and left. He would follow her. Every wolf would know she was an alpha. Part of her wanted the submissive to challenge her right to order him around, but the bored part hoped he would draw it out a little longer before she had to punish him too severely. Much easier to get what she wanted out of him.
She moved through the great historical house, power flowing through her. Oh the days of being Lupa were temporarily over, but she had a taste of them again. After twisting the old fashioned knob to her room, she pushed the door open and gestured for him to precede her. He stared at her chest as he walked by so didn’t immediately see what she had inside for their personal time. Then he looked up. By that point, she’d moved behind him, and shut the door.
“What the hell,” he whispered, then tried to leave.
“Where are you going?” she said menacingly.
“He can’t have known,” he said, indicating her little game room with one arm. She knew he meant Justin, the alpha.
“He paid for it, pussy. Now”—she turned, bolted the door with a click, and faced him again—”crawl on the bed, lie on your back, and put your hands above your head.”
The man put his hands above his head, and she saw the bulge in his jeans. Justin’s little note was right. He liked it rough. If not, the room would have scared away any sexual excitement. The four-poster, canopy bed, draped in black silks, had special hooks drilled into them at strategic places. The items hooked to them were wide and varied, depending on how willing the sexual partner was.
She had silk handcuffs, silver handcuffs, iron handcuffs, silver and iron knives, and a motley assortment of other toys in the black dresser by the bed. “What’s your name?” she demanded.
“Lucky,” he said with some snark.
Narrowing her eyes, she reassessed her new submissive. Better and better. It appears this one can go either way in bed. How fun. Instead of the few hours tonight then dump the body session she’d originally planned, she may have to elongate her time with him.
She moved her hand from the silver handcuffs over to the two sets of iron ones. No silk handcuffs for him and she decided to save the silver ones for his next session. Clicking them around his right wrist while looking into his eyes, she said, “While in this room, you are mine to command, even better than you do your alpha.” He didn’t need to know—yet—he was never leaving her room alive. She planned to let him know when it would do the most damage.
His agreement came after hesitating, and she yanked hard on the cuffs and clicked them around the post closest to her. A quick grab of the second set and she roughly put it on his left wrist, a little too tight. He yanked his hand back angrily, but she pulled it up to the opposite post from the other hand and attached the cuffs. Much like a deer in the meadow will when she senses danger, he stilled.
“Don’t be like that, Lucky,” she coaxed, running her hand down his still-clothed chest. “I thought you liked it a little rough.” She had to contain her laugh when he relaxed against her and the bulge in
his jeans enlarged. It was almost too easy to manipulate men.
The silver knife she kept on her person was her favorite. With a slow, evil grin, she grabbed it and started cutting his shirt off. Careful not to touch him so he wouldn’t know the weapon’s real silver properties, she tore the shirt and left it hanging in rags from his shoulders. She put the dagger under a fold in the blanket next to him for when she was ready for it.
For a submissive, his muscles were well toned. Roxy kissed her way down his chest. She licked and nipped as she dropped to his navel then flicked her tongue in his belly button to see how he responded. It pleased her when he sucked in an excited breath. Reel them in, get what she wanted sexually, then get everything else she lusted after.
As she ran her hand along the length of him through his jeans, she stroked, pushing, testing his pain threshold. With her hands, she snatched at the snap to his jeans and jerked the top open and the zipper down. With more force than finesse, she pulled his jeans and boxers to his ankles and pretended to struggle with them as she reached for the ankle cuffs on the end of the bed. Weres hated being cuffed, could stand it during sex play, but even then it was torture for the ankles to be restrained. However, she thought better of it and left his jeans around his ankles. Better get him desperate for more first.
Instead, she stood up at the end of the bed and took her own clothes off, starting with her shirt. She released her bra as soon as she was able then moved to her pants. A part of her screamed to get on with it. The sooner she had her fill, the sooner she could start letting blood. Just to prove she could control herself whenever she wanted, she made each movement slower, deliberate, and refused to give in to the blood lust rising at his nearly helpless position.
However, until his feet had the stronger ankle cuffs, he wouldn’t be completely helpless. Didn’t matter. She could take him without his hands being tied up, but it provided her with more fun to do the killing slowly. It had been too long since she had had the pleasure of a slow kill. Always before, she’d had to be mindful of Heather and her daughter, Alex, trying to take over and getting pack sympathy. She had to make a pretense something was good for the pack. Heather was getting her comeuppance and her daughter would soon learn.
The Midwife's Moon Page 2
