IN HER SOUL
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, July 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
PO Box 787
Hudson, OH 44236-0787
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-965-7
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
IN HER SOUL © 2004 LORIE O’CLARE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Syneca.
Lunewulf:
In Her Soul
Lorie O’Clare
Chapter One
The bouncer took her wrist, stamping a nondescript image on the back of her hand. Trudy Rousseau barely glanced at it, focusing instead on the people mingling beyond the entrance.
“Looking for someone?” The bouncer had beer on his breath.
“I’ll find them.” She brushed past him, determined to make the best of the night and have fun.
A young man who couldn’t possibly be twenty-one gave her a toothy grin as he stepped in her path. Trudy avoided getting a rum and coke spilled on her. “Excuse me. I’m sorry,” she said, dodging around the rather intoxicated human. She caught glimpses of the bar.
There were werewolves here. The earthy aroma couldn’t be missed. But with so many people, the mixed odors filled the air, making it hard to distinguish direction of scent.
“Want to dance?” A young human, barely old enough to shave, moved in front of her.
A sultry beat pounded from the dance floor. People merged on to the tiled floor in the middle of the club. Sexual aromas lingered everywhere. Typical of a pick-up bar, a meat market.
“Ask me later.” Trudy smiled at the young human, but then took advantage of the crowd to lose him, continuing her path toward the bar.
Lust and desire drifted around her, their rich, sweet aromas mixing with body sweat and alcohol. Humans fornicating. How blasé. The species had no clue how to let loose and really fuck.
Humans always hesitated. She craved a mate she could truly be herself with. Not forced into the submissive role like her previous mate had required. She wanted wild, aggressive sex, with a partner who wouldn’t hold back.
Elsa’s mate, Rick Bolton, had arranged for her to meet werewolves who used to belong to his pack. Excitement still tingled through her after winning the argument over her traveling alone.
“I traveled alone.” Elsa had stood up for her. “And Trudy is the oldest in our den, and a widowed bitch. She’ll do just fine.”
Considering she’d never been out of British Columbia before, Trudy decided she was doing damned fine. And now, of all places, here she was at a nightclub in Fargo, North Dakota, surrounded by Americans. She’d heard the rumors about how American werewolves were less disciplined, more rough around the collar. She couldn’t wait to get to know some of them.
“Give me another gin and orange juice.” The lady next to Trudy held her empty glass up in the air, catching the bartender’s attention.
Trudy squeezed in next to the woman. Strobe lights matched the beat of the music on the dance floor. The primal rhythm pounded through her, while flashing lights tampered with her vision. At the same time, she caught the scent of another werewolf. A deep, musky aroma, rich and captivating.
“What will you have?” The bartender could barely be heard over the music.
“White Zinfandel.” Her words drifted through the noise, although amazingly the bartender nodded, pulling down a wineglass.
She searched the people leaning against the bar, wondering if more than one werewolf were among those pressed in around her.
A woman brushed into her, while several people tried to get the bartender’s attention. Trudy held her ground though, waiting for her drink. The woman next to her did the same, offering a small apologetic smile. The beast within the lady emitted an attractive scent.
The woman had caramel-colored skin that almost glowed. Her black hair shone like silk, with tiny braids falling to her shoulders that had beads woven through them. She stood about Trudy’s height, thin, with a relaxed stance, wearing a white, sleeveless mini-dress. The woman’s brief glance her way allowed Trudy to see how pretty she was, with full lips and gentle brown eyes.
But her attention remained on the woman only for a second. Beyond her, at the end of the bar, a man leaned, nursing his bottle of beer and watching her. Trudy gazed back at him, mesmerized by the intensity of his green eyes. Never had she seen eyes that shade before. Maybe it had something to do with his tanned face, thick black eyebrows, and dark hair.
But it was more than coloring. A fire burned, smoldering deep within those penetrating orbs. She couldn’t look away, more than aware of her reaction to his attention. Her pussy swelled, spreading heat throughout her body. The room seemed hotter the longer she stared at him. Dampness spread across her palms. He continued to stare at her, showing no concern that he captivated her with his gaze.
“Drinks are paid for.” The bartender placed her glass of wine in front of her, along with the drink for the lady standing next to her.
The woman winked in her direction then glanced up and down the bar. “Who do we thank?”
The bartender nodded toward the end of the bar. The man she’d just been staring at raised his beer bottle in a silent toast. His looks improved even more when he smiled. Straight white teeth contrasted beautifully next to his tanned complexion.
“Thanks, Adam.” The lady next to her returned the gesture, raising her drink before taking a sip. She turned around then, resting her elbows on the bar and watching the dance floor.
Adam. What a strong name. She offered him a nod of thanks, enjoying the cool sweetness when she sipped at her wine. He downed the rest of his beer, nodded in response then turned, disappearing into the crowd. She followed him with her gaze. Adam stood taller than most men, muscular too. Damn. She sipped again at her wine, seeking a source to cool down her suddenly fiery libido.
She needed to focus her attention on finding the couple that Elsa’s mate had made arrangements for her to stay with. She hadn’t expected the club they had told her to meet them at to be so crowded. And she didn’t have much of a description to go by.
“Do you know Emily and Ralph Simpson?” She almost had to holler in the lady’s ear next to her.
The young woman turned to face her, offering her full attention. Those soft brown eyes studied her. “Sure, I know them.” She didn’t smile this time, strong hesitation suddenly swarmed around her. “Do you know them?”
Trudy shook her head. The music ended, and the DJ encouraged everyone to dance to the next song. She spoke quickly while the chance remained that she could be heard. “I’m supposed to meet them here.”
“Well I haven’t seen either of them.” The beads in her braids swung back and forth over her shoulders when she glanced over the crowd.
Her musky scent thickened, raising a question with Trudy. She didn’t understand the hesitation she sensed, and now some new emotion, something she couldn’t put her finger on, registered in the air. This woman didn’t like being asked if she knew the Simpsons, although Trudy had no idea why.
The people around them moved, shifting or hurrying to the dance floor, when a favorite hip-hop tune began. The pretty, young black woman disappeared in the crowd, leaving Trudy standing with her wineglass in her hand.
Rick and Elsa had told her that Emily and Ralph Simpson were a few y
ears older than she. Although she would have preferred to meet them at their home, Emily explained on the phone the day before they had plans to go out that night, and would meet her here. Emily said they would both wear red shirts to make it easier for her to spot them. And of course, they would look for her.
But she didn’t see any couples wearing red shirts. The bouncer didn’t pay any attention when she set her wineglass down and headed for the door. Just a bit of fresh air, and she would return to find the Simpsons.
“Leaving so soon?” A man spoke behind her, but he couldn’t be talking to her.
Chapter Two
The parking lot was full of cars. It seemed every American drove wherever they went. She just wanted some fresh air, and moved to the side of the building, hoping to avoid departing drunks.
“Couldn’t you find your friends?” The man spoke again, although this time the masculine scent of a werewolf drifted around her.
No one knew her plans for the evening. She was ready to demand how he could know that about her. But when she turned, her thoughts shifted in a completely different direction.
Captivating green eyes stared down at her. The man who had bought her drink for her—Adam—stared down at her. Heat flushed through her, making her mouth go dry. She ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them, while her heart skipped a beat. Were all American werewolves this gorgeous?
His gaze traveled down her, slowly, making her wish she had worn something a bit dressier. She hardly appeared sexy in her well-worn jeans and tank top. But the Simpsons hadn’t told her this place was a nightclub.
He, on the other hand, made a pair of blue jeans look delectable. And the loose fitting, button-down shirt he wore, spread over a chest she would love to run her fingers across. The top couple of buttons of his shirt weren’t buttoned, allowing a tempting view of curly, dark brown chest hair.
Suddenly her mouth seemed too wet.
He cocked his head, appraising her, or waiting for her to say something. Those dark forest green eyes watched her. “Are you leaving?”
She shook her head, clearing her throat. “It’s smoky in there.”
“You have a beautiful accent.” He moved, walking to the side of her.
She wouldn’t actually refer to his American accent as beautiful, so wasn’t sure how to respond. But he checked her out, moving so that she stood between him and the building.
“What brings you to Fargo?” He continued with the interrogation, while taking his time looking her over.
“I’m meeting some friends here.” It dawned on her that she didn’t detect lust on him or any sexual curiosity toward her. She stifled her disappointment, realizing her petite features, with her plain, long blonde hair must not impress him. “I’m going back inside.”
“It’s still smoky in there.” He sounded amused.
“Well it doesn’t appear I’m going to find my friends out here.” She knew she sounded a bit snappy, but it was hard to hide her disappointment that such a sexy man had no interest in her, and now was mocking her.
Strong fingers wrapped around her arm when she turned to leave. His hand was big enough for his fingers to completely encircle her arm. She wanted to rip her arm from his grasp, challenge him right there. But the emotions she smelled on him already indicated he wasn’t attracted to her; no reason to make it worse by showing her aggressive side.
“Tell me who you are looking for?” His soft-spoken words caressed her, doing nothing for the fire burning inside her that she had not yet been able to put out.
His touch scorched her, the roughness of his skin against hers making it hard to remain still.
“Take your hand off of me.” She wanted him to do anything but that, so kept her gaze on those long fingers, unable to look him in the eyes, knowing he would see her desire if she did.
He didn’t let go.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, pumping blood through her body too fast, making the beast within her stir. The beat pulsed straight through her to her pussy, cum soaking her jeans.
“What are you hiding from me, little bitch?” he whispered, pulling her toward him, instead of letting go.
The muscles in his arm bulged. She imagined he used very little of his strength on her. It took a bit of effort on her part however to maintain her footing, and not stumble into him.
“I don’t even know you.” She yanked free of his grasp, making her arm sting where he’d gripped her. “There is no reason for me to tell you anything.”
Something didn’t make sense here. The best thing to do was get away from him, and ignore the need screaming through her. Americans were a bit more wild, less sophisticated. That was what she’d heard, at least. She’d always thought that was prejudice, old hogwash speaking, but it would explain this werewolf’s behavior at the moment.
She turned to see several humans walking toward the club doors, paying no attention to her. He grabbed her before she could take a step in their direction.
This time he grabbed both of her arms, pressing them against the side of her body. Her breasts pushed together, offering a nice view of cleavage. His eyes lowered to the sight, and those beautiful green eyes darkened.
He lifted her, placing himself between her and the entrance to the club. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Adam Knight.”
She didn’t miss the interest in his eyes, which made her wonder if he were an expert at concealing his emotions. Maybe he was trying to pick her up. Either way, he needed to learn some manners.
Fire burned in his gaze when she struggled until he let go of her arms. Her breath came almost in pants while she glared at him, intent on making him see she would not be bullied into submitting.
“Is this how all Americans say hello?” If he was trying to pick her up, that would explain his aggressive manner.
“Not all of them.” He grinned, apparently finding her amusing once again.
“Just those who need a leash, huh?” She tried to walk around him, but he blocked her path, this time reaching for her face.
His fingers caressed her cheek, the warmth of his touch making her lightheaded. “It seems to me that a leash could be better used on unescorted bitches asking about werewolves they don’t know.”
When did he get so close to her? She blinked several times, trying to clear her head, while staring at his broad, muscular chest. His hand slid over her ear, his fingers tangling into her hair. Every time she inhaled, his masculine, earthy scent filled her lungs.
His voice had turned husky, his tone low, keeping their conversation intimate. “Now why don’t you tell me your name, and why you are looking for the Simpsons?” He pulled on her hair, forcing her to look up at him.
She should fight him, not allow him to control her like this. Looking into those dark green eyes was a mistake. Damned if she could remember her name at the moment.
Her breathing came faster when he lowered his head, his gaze dropping to her mouth. He was going to kiss her! Right here at the edge of the parking lot, outside a club, with people idly moving around them. He didn’t know her name, and she knew nothing about him. But he was going to kiss her!
Molten lava rushed through her, while her womb tightened. Cum soaked her cunt when his lips brushed over hers. She stifled any concerns, excitement over this sexy stranger kissing her, consuming all her rational thoughts.
“I see she is cooperating with you.” A woman chuckled, the musical sound coming from right next to her.
Chapter Three
His chest was harder than a rock wall. Trudy swore her hands melted right through his shirt when she pushed against him, breaking the spell of his kiss. But his nearness still fogged her senses, muddling her thoughts.
A car drove past them in the parking lot, its exhaust filtering through the air, overriding the smell of lust and desire, which probably all came from her anyway.
The pretty bitch she had spoken to briefly inside stood next to them, grinning. Her white mini-dress clung to her curvy body, her caramel skin
making the dress appear to glow in the darkness.
“Did you get her name, rank, and serial number, too?” Her laughter irritated Trudy.
“He didn’t get shit.” She scowled at both of them, crossing her arms against her waist.
The action had Mr. Adam Knight lowering his gaze to her breasts again. This time she wasn’t daunted by his seductive behavior.
She pulled her tank top down, straightening it, realizing her hardened nipples pressed against the fabric. Let him get an eyeful. His gorgeous looks were just a cover. They were both making fun of her, and she didn’t know why.
She walked around the woman this time, heading back to the club. It was time to find the Simpsons, and hopefully get the hell out of here.
“Emily and Ralph aren’t in there.” The pretty bitch caught her attention.
“Why didn’t you tell me that inside?” Trudy focused on the lady, noticing again that some form of hesitation surrounded her.
The bitch shrugged, glancing at Adam.
“Why are you looking for them?” His question drew her gaze to him. She really needed to learn to quit looking into those sexy green eyes.
“I’m supposed to meet them here.” She glanced from one to the other, while they both watched her. “Is it some kind of crime in the States to meet a couple at a bar?”
“I guess it depends on why you are meeting them.” When the pretty black lady spoke, Adam gave her a quick glance, as if he didn’t approve of her comment.
Americans sure were strange. Trudy held her hands out, exasperated with their cornering her like this. “Look. I just got into town. The Simpsons agreed to meet me here. I’m tired, and I would love a shower. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a phone and call them.”
Adam reached for the phone attached to his belt, and handed it to her. After a minute of fumbling through her bag searching for the piece of paper that had the Simpsons’ number on it, she took the phone. These two were making her nervous, standing there, watching her.
She dialed the number, listened to it ring several times before voice mail picked up, then left a message.
Lunewulf 5: In Her Soul Page 1
