Her Wanted Wolf

by Renee Michaels

  To her fuzzy brain, the man morphed into the were of her dreams. Only hotter and better hung than anything she fantasized about. His shoulder-length ebony hair caught the moonlight, framing a face with high Slavic cheekbones, a firm jaw, and a beautiful mouth. His lips alone conjured up images of prolonged foreplay. He’d nibble his way up and down her body, culminating with him giving her core a long, hot licking. After all, this was her hallucination.

  “You’re beautiful,” she blurted out. “I could chew on your mouth. It’s a work of art.” Aimee grinned sappily at him. “I didn’t know I could wax poetic about a hot guy.” The disjointed thoughts went straight from her brain and popped out of her mouth. She frowned at him. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Fantasy man’s mouth lifted up on one side, forming a sexy half-smile.

  “Oh, well, no matter. This is a dream, right? Or is it a nightmare? Have you come to save me?”

  “I will keep you safe, no matter the cost.”

  As Aimee’s jumbled brain tried to grasp the significance of his words, she frowned at him, confused. She reached for him, and his huge hands clasped her icy, trembling ones. They warmed her chilled fingers. Hot hands, cold heart? The random thought danced through her head. Aimee shook her head to clear it.

  I will keep you safe. The melodious bass of his voice echoed in her head like thunder as her knees buckled. He gathered her close to stop her from falling flat on her face, and she burrowed into his warm chest, drawing heat from him.

  “Don’t leave me,” Aimee pleaded as her vision clouded.

  “Not while there’s breath in my body,” he promised, and lifted her off her feet.

  “Ah, you’re a prince of a were after all,” she mumbled as the world went black.

  * * * *

  Aimee opened her eyes and blinked wearily. She tried to keep them open but her eyelids slid shut to stop the world from spinning. Her head felt like she’d had a really good time last night. The problem was she didn’t remember anything, much less enjoying it.

  The little man with the anvil was pounding away in her head. This was no ordinary hangover. If she found out someone had slipped something into her drink, she was going to hunt them down and practice doing maritime knots with his dick.

  Okay, she could do this. How hard could it be to keep her eyelids up? Aimee grimaced with the effort.

  She eased her eyes open millimeter by millimeter, seeing no point in rushing it. This smallest of tasks took a lot of concentration.

  The memory of waking up before came rushing back. Erotic images warred with the nightmarish. Had she dreamed of cuddling up to a hot fantasy were? The vague, disturbing memory of a needle pricking her arm before she plunged into oblivion flitted through her head. It didn’t make sense.

  Sucking back a quaky breath, Aimee took in her surroundings. The walls were damp with lichen and lacy roots dangled from the ceiling. She was in a cave. That would explain the gritty, uneven surface biting into her backside through the thin bedroll.

  “Ah, you’re finally awake.” The pleased chirp dragged her from her observations.

  Aimee’s eyes shifted over to the man who’d spoken. The owner of the voice looked like a cherub. He was short-limbed, a little on the plump side with lint-pale hair, guileless blue eyes, and the pinkest softest cheeks she’d ever seen on a man.

  She sniffed him. He smelled like a were, musky with a hint of the forest, but he lacked the long, lean, predatory physique of one. Using her scent-memory, she attempted to determine which pack he belonged to, but she couldn’t place him.

  The dank moldiness of the cave, mixed with other vapors, filled her nostrils. Aimee sifted through the mix of odors, seeking a familiar scent, like a pack brother or sister. Nothing in the air gave her a hint of who brought her here, or where she was.

  Comprehension scattered the last remnants of fog from her brain. She was far from home, with strangers—therefore, in deep shit.

  The odd little were took her wrist to test her pulse. His fingertips were as smooth as a baby’s cheek.

  Terrified, but determined not to let it show, she eased her forearm away from his too-soft touch. “Who are you?”

  “Me? I’m Milo Redmaven, but they call me the Chemist.”

  Aimee’s stomach lurched with dread. “Did you say Redmaven?” She inched away from him, using her palms to push back. The effort left her breathless and sweating.

  “Yes, don’t struggle. You had a bad reaction to the cocktail of chemicals we shot into your system. You’ll experience some residual weakness in your limbs, and hallucinations, but I think you’ll recover quickly. Bardo has plans for you.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch.” Aimee struck out at him, her claws easing through her fingertips sluggishly. He caught her fist with a strength that belied his benign appearance.

  “Now, don’t get nasty.” His expression hardened, and she glimpsed the were in him.

  “What do you want with me?”

  His cool smile confirmed her suspicions. “Breeder, of course.”

  The simplistic answer pissed her off to no end. “I won’t be lifting my tail for a mutt.” Her insult earned her a tightening of his grip. She heard and felt the bones in her hand grind together. Searing agony shimmied through her abused fist, and greasy sweat popped up on her skin. Any more pressure and she’d pass out.

  A scent pricked her memory, evoking images in her head a second before her abuser abruptly released her hand. She looked up into the face of the were who’d kept her safe in her dreams. He had the Chemist by the neck with his fat pink toes dangling inches off the lichen-covered ground.

  “Let him go, Micah.” The barked order reverberated off the limestone formations hanging from the ceiling. “Milo, is that any way to treat the mother of your next alpha?”

  Oh shit, she knew that voice.

  Reluctantly, Aimee turned her head to see the last person to whom she wanted to be in close proximity. Bardo Redmaven was a wolf in his prime, handsome and pinup gorgeous. However, he was one twisted bastard. The mesmeric quality about him drew people to the wolf even though they knew he was dangerous. Aimee saw the burning zeal in his eyes that could only be madness.

  He sauntered over to her side and dropped down onto his haunches.

  Aimee gagged at the stench of fresh blood and death clinging to him. “I must apologize for the poor accommodations.” His cold grey eyes skimmed over her. “But since our supreme alpha sent me into exile with your brother’s help, I’ve had to make do with the most basic amenities.”

  Aimee recoiled from the fingers he brushed over her cheek. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’ll do more than touch before this is over.” He gripped her jaw with a cruel hand. “But not just yet. You have to regain some of your strength. I like a bit of a fight with my sex. Adds to my pleasure. You’ll whelp me fine cubs.” His hand slid down to cradle her breast. His fingers bit into the delicate flesh. Her protest died on her lips when she saw a grotesque smile, full of malice and enjoyment at her discomfort, spread across his face.

  Aimee winced and shrank back from him. Cold sweat iced down her body.

  “By your expression, I see you don’t like it rough. But you’ll learn.”

  “Give her to us, Bardo. We’ll prime the haughty little bitch for you. We’ve been without a woman for weeks.”

  The rasp of metal grating against metal dragged her attention to the were who lumbered out of the dark tunnel and into the circle of light shed by the Coleman lantern. His eyes slid hungrily over her. Pinpricks skittered over her skin, and she fought the urge to wrap her arms protectively around her body. Her perception of the danger she was in multiplied tenfold.

  He was as handsome as his pack-mates, but his pronounced brow ridge and shuttered winter-grey eyes full of greedy lust raked her body in caterpillar-creeping-up-your-arm kind of way. He was built like a tank, with well-delineated freakishly purple veins bulging under the taut skin covering his muscle-bound body. />
  Giving in to instinct, Aimee drew her knees up against her chest. Her action brought a pleased smile to Bardo’s lips, and he addressed his subordinate without glancing from her.

  “Not yet, Rifkin. I don’t want the goods damaged.” Bardo’s callous, dispassionate dismissal shook Aimee out of the horrified fascination she had with Rifkin’s physique.

  It pricked her pride and pissed her off. “My brother is going to skin you like a doe just for kicks.”

  Bardo stood up and sneered down at her. “We’ve managed to evade him so far. By the time he finds us, my plans will be set in motion, and it will be much too late for anyone to stop me.”

  The snarky question on the tip of her tongue died when Rifkin lumbered over to stare down at her with a cruel acquisitiveness in his eyes.

  He stooped down by her feet, pulled one of her legs down, and ran a callused hand up her calf. “The Lunedares are a bunch of pussies. I still say we can play with her until you’re ready to use her.”

  Micah growled. His body expanded menacingly as he moved toward Rifkin, but stopped when Bardo held up a staying hand. The tortured grimness on Micah’s face puzzled her.

  Bile filled Aimee’s mouth. Her skin crawled under Rifkin’s palm while his meaty hand slithered up her inner thigh. He smirked at her as if there was nothing she could do.

  Aimee didn’t know why Drew hadn’t come for her, but she was a Lunedare. She wasn’t about to sit there and allow some asshole to paw her.

  Enough was enough.

  Aimee jerked back her leg and kicked with what little strength she had. Crap, her aim was way off, she thought as she rammed her foot into his gut. She’d intended to send his balls up into his throat.

  Rifkin lunged at her, his mouth open, fangs reaching for her neck. Anticipating his intentions, she morphed her hand into a paw, claws extended, to press them into his jugular.

  “Come on, lean in. Just an inch. I’ll show you what this Lunedare bitch is capable of,” Aimee dared him with a blade-sharp smile.

  A were’s neck was his most vulnerable spot. All those big, vital arteries, filled with their lifeblood. Very few of her kind recovered if an opponent ripped it open. The flesh couldn’t knit fast enough to stem the blood lost. It was almost a sure death.

  “Back off, Rifkin, the little she-wolf’s got you by the jugular,” the Redmavens’ alpha drawled. “By her attitude, I don’t think she likes you, and would enjoy taking a chunk out of your neck.” Bardo gestured for him to retreat, but Rifkin remained where he was, his eyes locked with hers.

  Her muscles ached with fatigue from holding her arm in the same position, and her brow dampened under the strain, but she didn’t dare lower her hand.

  If Rifkin defied Bardo, she was screwed. Aimee winced when Rifkin’s fingers bit deeper into her thigh. Pushing back the agony, she pressed her claws over his skin, drawing blood. In retaliation, the were wrapped his hand around her neck, cutting off her air.

  Threatening growls rumbled through the cave. After a long, tension-fraught moment, Rifkin broke eye contact with her. Aimee glanced up, following the direction of his gaze to see Micah, and Milo moved to flank Bardo.

  Rifkin released her and lifted his arms in a placating gesture before he slithered off her. His body was stiff with rage as he rose to give his pack-mates a baleful glare, his face red with humiliation.

  Bardo smiled at Rifkin, his black eyes glittering with malice. “Having trouble obeying my orders, Rifkin? I think you need a refresher course in pack hierarchy.” In a flash, Bardo’s claws shot from his fingertips, curved and lethally sharp. He raked them across Rifkin’s jaw, shredding his flesh.

  Rifkin’s enraged roar reverberated around them. Arms arched from his body, his chest puffed out aggressively, and fur sprouted through his skin. He took a purposeful stride toward Bardo, claws descended.

  Eyes icy with intent, Micah stepped in front of his alpha, his visage grim and uncompromising. Aimee gasped as his body seemed to expand, without him shifting, causing Rifkin to hesitate. Micah bared his fangs as his claws slid from his hands, curved and lethal in their sharpness. A low challenging growl rumbled from his throat. Taut, simmering tension hummed between the two weres.

  Rifkin froze, frustration flitting across his face. Quivering with barely restrained rage, he dropped his head in submission. Shoulders hunched, he scuttled back.

  Bardo fixed him with a steely glare. “Good boy. See, Rifkin, that’s how you show loyalty to your alpha. Now, Milo wants to collect more air and soil samples. See that he returns in one piece. Make sure the rest of those idiots under your command stay within the boundaries Milo set. One more slip-up and I’ll tear strips out of your hide, and use Milo’s little healing inhibitor on you. Micah, keep a close eye on our guest. I want to know the moment she is fit to travel.” Bardo speared Aimee with a final glance before he loped down the dark tunnel from where he came. Milo followed him like flotsam pulled by a strong current.

  Aimee dragged her gaze from them to see Rifkin shoot her and Micah a malevolent glare before he slouched away.

  The silence in the cavern pressed down on her, and Aimee sagged under the strain of holding it together.

  She looked up at the man who’d imprinted himself on her dreams. “How can you carry out his wishes? You know taking me is wrong. Weres from both packs are going to die.”

  “He is my alpha.” The harsh pronouncement sent an overwhelming sense of disappointment through her.

  “He is jeopardizing the well-being of your pack with his thirst for revenge. That goes against everything we are.”

  “Everything we are? You don’t know what the Redmavens are, what we’ve become.” He held out a canteen to her. Aimee looked at it suspiciously.

  “It’s not drugged. Drink. You need fluids to flush out your system.” He proffered the canteen again.

  Aimee accepted the container and took a few tentative sips to moisten her parched mouth. “Bardo is not fit to lead a pack. Your clan needs a were who’ll see to their safety. My kidnapping will start a war.”

  “We are already at war. Only now we’re fighting for the survival of our pack.”

  “Your alpha is insane,” she murmured.

  “There are worse things here than Bardo, little were. You just got a taste of it. Don’t get caught in the tunnels alone with Rifkin. It might be in your best interest to maintain the façade that you’re still sick and weak from the Chemist’s drugs. Maybe you’ll get through this in one piece.” He took back the container and offered her some beef jerky. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

  She shook her head in refusal. The thought of food made her nauseous.

  Aimee grabbed his hand. “And if Bardo decides to force-breed me, will you stand by your principles and step back?”

  Micah’s green eyes darkened. The muscles in his jaw clenched. He lifted her hand and ran his stubble-covered face over her skin. “Like I said, malinger, and make it believable. Vomit a couple of times if you can manage. Bardo hates the smell of sickness. That should buy you some time.”

  The fervency in his eyes buoyed her mood a little. “My brother will come for me.” She had to believe he’d come because the alternative couldn’t be borne. Drained, she slumped back on the sleeping bag.

  “He won’t find you.” Micah dropped to his knees and pulled a blanket up over her shoulders. His words released the panic she’d held at bay.

  “What do you mean he won’t find me?”

  Micah shook his head. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe, as I promised.”

  “From what I’ve seen, I am not sure you can.”

  “Nothing is as it seems, little girl.” His cryptic words didn’t make any sense, but very little did right now. She turned away from him, shut her eyes, and pretended to sleep.

  How long had she been here? She couldn’t believe her pack hadn’t found her yet.

  Where was Drew? She knew he’d never stop until he found her. Until he did, she’d work to regain her strength, and t
hen kick some ass. Aimee Lunedare was nobody’s breeding stock.

  Chapter Three

  Drew lost no time finding the wolves with his sister’s essence on them. The weres he tracked roamed at random over a vast area at the base of the Ozark Mountains. They were the biggest bunch of undisciplined fuck-ups he’d ever come across. Their tempers flared at the smallest slight, and they fought frequently without an alpha in the mix to control them. Drew figured the steroid-fed jerks had control issues. It made them stupid and reckless.

  Drew realized the wolves he stalked were expendable pawns in the Machiavellian game Bardo played. They lacked the lethal vibe experienced wolves exuded. This kept him from putting them down. It would serve no purpose. The clueless weres had just enough of Aimee’s scent on them to catch his interest, but not enough to give him a hint of her location. They were decoys.

  Drew figured one of them would eventually lead him to a were higher up in the Redmaven hierarchy. He watched and waited.

  His patience finally paid off. One of the wolves veered off on his own. Drew trailed him for several days, going deeper and deeper into the heavily wooded area.

  He always kept downwind of the wolf. The potent stench particular to these Redmavens, perverted by their former alpha, allowed him to hang back at a good distance, minimizing any chance of discovery.

  Night fell swiftly. Drew noticed every small shift of the shadows and used them to conceal his presence. His ears pricked up when the flutter of a bat’s wings covered the steady paw-beats of the wolf he tracked. He caught all subtle nuances of the telling odors carried on the wind, but he never lost the scent trail of his prey.

  Drew pressed determinedly on, hour after hour without rest, picking his way through the dense forest of deciduous trees with silent, deadly precision. Focused, he ignored the cruel bite of hunger clawing at his shrunken stomach, and the tremors in his limbs brought on by exhaustion.