Her Wanted Wolf

by Renee Michaels

  More strangers to clutter up the place, she mentally grumbled to herself.

  “Take a mate?” Ishbel laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m going to have some fun, a lot of fun. I want to see a real city. Paris! I’m going to see the city of lights and not just study it in a dusty old book. I’m going to take in all its scents and taste the flavors. Wine, food, and men. I intend to gorge myself.”

  “Careful you don’t give yourself a bad case of indigestion,” Sabine teased. She winced when her sister punched her in the upper arm.

  Ishbel chafed the most under the restrictions their father put on his pack. Sabine suspected she’d taken a human lover or two. The faint smell of the men lingered on Ishbel’s skin whenever she returned from her rare forays into the nearby towns. She shot her sister a worried glance. Would she fall prey to the vices men craved?

  Ishbel eyes met Sabine’s concerned gaze. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”

  Sabine shook her head. “No, go. We’ve all put aside our dreams out of respect for Father and loyalty to the pack. I want you to go and enjoy your travels to the fullest. I know you’ve been raring to go. You’ll come back when you’ve had your fill.” To put an end to her sister’s hesitancy, Sabine wiggled her brows suggestively. “Maybe you’ll find a French wolf to suit you, and your wanderlust will fade.”

  Ishbel smirked. “He might want to go wandering with me. What about you, Ala? Going to take a male were as a lover?”

  “Not likely. I’m happy with Tija. We want children, though. Maybe we’ll find a beta who’ll be willing to help us make a family.” Ala turned to Sabine. “What do you want for yourself when we get there, Sabi? Nothing sensible, now. You have to wish for something frivolous.” Ala almost skipped to keep up with her lankier sisters.

  Sabine thought for a moment. She’d have to come up with some bit of nonsense to make Ala smile. “Uhmmmmm, I want to feel silk on my skin, and some of those shoes. The ones with those improbable heels, red and flashy. And candy, lots of candy.” Sabine’s outrageous wish elicited chuckles from her sisters.

  “You’d never be able to walk in them,” Ishbel hooted, and tottered ahead of them on the tips of her toes, listing from side to side.

  They laughed at her foolishness. “True, but I’ll have fun trying.”

  “Speaking of having a little fun, we can have some right now.” Ishbel tried to sound nonchalant, but the smirk on her face caught Sabine’s attention.

  “What are you talking about?” Through experience, Sabine knew her sister had a bit of mischief up her sleeve.

  “The Lunedare alpha has gone to take a bath. He’s asked for something to shave with and soap. I pointed the way to the hot spring. I think since we live by the old ways you should go assist him with his ablutions.”

  “That custom died out in the middle ages,” Sabine mumbled darkly.

  “He wanted something to cut his hair. I put Tija’s father’s old straight razor, Mama’s shears, and some of that sage-infused soap we made in this. Take it to him.” Ishbel tossed Sabine the sack she had dangling from her fingertips.

  Sabine caught the bag, but thrust it out to Ishbel, who stepped back out of arm’s reach.

  “We can help you if you’d like. There’s a lot of him to wash, isn’t there? I’d like to look him over now that he’s cleaned up a bit. He stirs the blood, doesn’t he? He hasn’t spared any of us a glance, though, which is a pity.” Ishbel let an exaggerated sigh of regret. “I think he’s sniffing at you. Are you going to take a bite out of him Sabi, or better yet, let Drew take a bite out of you?”

  “Who’s Drew?” Sabine looked at them. Had she missed something or someone?

  “The man you’re going to take to mate. His name is Drew Lunedare. Were you going to call your mate by his clan name in the most intimate of moments?” Ishbel’s teasing laughter tinkled in the air.

  “Ishbel, wherever did you hear such talk?” Ala admonished before a giggle slipped through the lips she clamped between her teeth.

  “It’s how the women campers sound when they are in the throes of mating. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard them a time or two,” Ishbel retorted, looking pointedly at Sabine. “Or watched them. Human men tire quickly, and the act is over far too soon. I wonder if a were will have more stamina. Drew looks like he’d go on forever. He’s very well endowed, and the muscles in his thighs and back are well developed. No chance of him failing to please you.”

  Sabine had heard and seen enough over the years. Sound traveled over long distances through the forest. Sometimes the fervent groans and pleas shared between lovers reached them. She’d watched, too, bodies entwined in gentle coupling or fervent unrestrained matings, making her aroused and a little bit envious.

  “It’s too dark. We won’t be able to see anything.” An unwarranted possessiveness washed over Sabine. For some reason she didn’t want Ishbel to scrutinize Drew’s attributes. Ishbel’s wicked descriptions would have them in stitches, but she didn’t want that. Even he needed a little protection.

  “We are werekin, sister dear. We’re blessed with excellent night vision, and besides, there’s a full moon.” Ishbel grinned at her. “Or don’t you want to share?”

  It took an awful lot for Sabine not to squirm under the perceptive stares her sisters fixed on her. “It’d be rude to spy on him.”

  “Rude?” Ishbel nudged Ala in her side with her elbow. “Ala, our sister, who only trots out her dusty unused manners when it suits her, thinks it’s discourteous. Hmmm, this bears investigating, but just so you know…I’m not the only one who’s shown an interest in taking a good long look at him.” Ishbel dropped this little bit of information deliberately, her eyes on Sabine’s face.

  A frown wrinkled Sabine’s brow. She didn’t like where this was heading. “What do you mean?”

  “Sabine, Sabine. A virile were has entered our compound. Don’t you think every woman here with a pulse is going to take a good look at what he has to offer? Some are dying to experience what it’s like to be with a man. The others who know what it is like are ripe and ready to refresh their memories.” Ishbel tut-tutted and shook her head. “He’s fair game until he declares which one of us he’s taking as his mate. Maybe he’ll accept what is offered. That is, if you don’t get to him first. You could find out if he’s worth snuggling in the furs with before you take him to mate.”

  Sabine clamped her lips shut, or she might spew out a string of curses in the several languages she’d learned from her father. She had no right to demand his fidelity. Pride wouldn’t allow her to march over the rise, assume the role of a mother hen, and shoo the women back to their shacks.

  Didn’t they have enough to do? They had to begin breaking down the camp. It would take a lot of work to make the area look undisturbed.

  She looked up at the moon. By its position, dawn was several hours away. She hoped with everything in her that, if Drew decided to take his pleasure with a pack sister, she’d be able to shut out their moans of pleasure and stifle the odd ache in the center of her chest.

  “Ishbel, you’ll come with us in the morning when I take Lunedare to spy on the den. Ala, keep an eye on Balthazar while we’re away, and make sure our belongings are buried throughout the woods. I’m going deliver this to Lunedare and after that seek my bed…alone,” she said with emphasis, which elicited a chuckle from Ishbel. Sabine ran up the hill to the stream-fed basin they used to bathe. She didn’t see any of her pack sisters, but she sensed them blended into the shadows.

  Drew was facing away from her when Sabine reached the pool. The waterline rippled just above the curve of his buttocks. Moisture clung to the long line of his back, and Sabine imagined licking the droplets off his skin.

  He turned suddenly, and their eyes met. Drew continued to clean his teeth with a green twig. Dribbles of water weighed down the dusting of hair on his body, creating a vee aiming at his crotch. Unable to help herself, she allowed her eyes to follow the line downward. His cock, surrounded by a thick tuft of
pubic hair, bobbed in the pool. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened. She fought hard to mask her sexual arousal.

  She dragged her gaze up to meet his. The gleam she saw reflected in them gave her ample confirmation he knew what she was thinking, and heat washed over her body.

  “I’ve brought you soap, a razor, and a pair of scissors,” she all but stuttered.

  “I could use a hand. I don’t have a mirror.” He started to wade forward, but she held up her hand.

  “Ahh…no I’ll come in. We’ll need the water to create a lather to shave you.” She could wring her sister’s neck. Damn Ishbel.

  Sabine didn’t want the other she-wolves taking stock of him. It was bad enough she smelled the heat of their interest. She cut through the water and, in a businesslike manner, Sabine handed him the soap and razor.

  Taking the small Victorian embroidery shears, which had belonged to her Mother, she snipped his unkempt beard. She kept her eyes fixed on the lower half of his face. His hair was thick and the scissors unsuitable for the task. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to cut it low enough for the razor to do its work.

  The ambient heat coming off him warmed her skin, and her nipples tightened.

  Drew soaped his face, passed her the razor, and took the shears from her.

  Sabine hesitated, with the blade gripped in her hand.

  “Done this before? I’d hate for your hand to slip and slice open something vital.” The laughter in his voice was a dare if she ever heard one.

  She flicked open the straight razor and tilted his head back. “I have, but don’t tempt me by putting ideas in my head. I get enough of that from Ishbel.”

  “Really? What kind of ideas?”

  “Never mind.” She swiped the blade through the suds and hair on his cheek, continuing until he was clean-shaven.

  Drew washed off the remnants of the soap and started to soap his body. He looked different. The brown in his hair had a hint of gold, his jaw line firm and determined.

  Sabine took a step back and slipped on a mossy stone. Drew caught her by the hips to steady her.

  “We’re losing our audience,” he murmured and stepped back from her. He washed his hair, submerged himself, and then popped up. “If you’re not staying the night, now might be a good time to go.”

  Inexperienced as she was, Sabine recognized the heat and need in his gaze.

  She gave him a jerky nod and exited the basin, trying her best not to run like a frightened rabbit.

  She needed the oblivion of sleep, to blot out the images of a wet, naked Lunedare in all his masculine glory.

  Ishbel’s teasing laughter followed her down the hill as she stalked away. She didn’t want to think about him, or about the precarious position they were in anymore. She deserved a short period of respite and she was taking it. Come tomorrow, nothing would be the same. She’d cling to the familiar for one more night.

  Chapter Eight

  Aimee pushed back her lank, sweat-dampened hair from her forehead and gripped the reinforced bars of her cage. She hated the enclosure, but as Micah pointed out, it was as much to keep the male weres out as to keep her in. The shortage of women made it open season on the unattached females. She almost missed the cave.

  Bardo had abruptly relocated his pack. She hadn’t needed to fake feebleness as Micah had suggested. The debilitating effects of Milo’s concoction lingered in her system. Micah had to carry her from the cave, over countless miles through the forest on his back to rendezvous with the windowless panel truck, which transported them to her new jail. Hoping to facilitate in her rescue, she used up a lot of energy to shift into were form, and she’d shed spoor as much as she was able on their long journey.

  They’d driven for days on end to a city. The raucous cacophony of sounds emitted by constant traffic grated on her frazzled nerves. At first, she had no idea where they were, since she’d been so turned around.

  The humidity gave her the first clue that they’d headed south. The moisture in the air made the thin tank and cotton pants she wore cling to her skin. The briny tang in the air, which mixed with the greasy aroma of engine oil tainting the atmosphere, could only come from the ocean. It left a bad taste in the back of her mouth. They were on a coast, and judging by the soft drawls carried on the air, she figured they were in southeast. Micah finally told her they were in Savannah, Georgia. And there they stayed and waited. For what, Aimee didn’t know.

  Aimee looked around the huge, overcrowded warehouse, and her contempt for the Redmavens’ alpha went up several notches. They were jammed in the limited space like sardines. The few women and young were huddled in a corner behind a protective barrier made up of their mates, fathers, and brothers. They looked downtrodden and, in spite of her situation, she felt pity for them.

  The heat generated by the corrugated metal walls added a claustrophobic uneasiness to the tension in the room. There wasn’t any electricity to power the dust-laden ceiling fans, which would stir the stale air filling the room. Worse yet, the single washroom with a toilet and sink were woefully inadequate for their needs.

  Aimee was puzzled. She was acquainted with the were whose marked territory was nearby. The concentration of unfamiliar were spoor should have alerted Royal Sinclair. She couldn’t understand why he or hadn’t any of his pack hadn’t investigated infringement so close to his territory. He’d contact Drew.

  She bet that creep Milo had something to do with it. He strutted in and out of the place every few days with a smug grin on his sunburned face. Guess the warehouse wasn’t good enough for him. Aimee wrinkled her nose. Who could blame him?

  The restiveness of the Redmavens grew each day because of Bardo’s unexplained absence. The room hummed with a leashed violence. It wouldn’t take much for a full-scale brawl to break out.

  She was trapped in a room full of horny, pumped up weres, and her breeding cycle was about to begin. She’d barely noticed at first. She’d ignored it, believing it was the stress from her captivity. Then the unusual heaviness in her pelvic area grew each day. It was wishful thinking on her part that it was going to go away. Very soon, she’d started to emit the scent to lure in a mate. Talk about being screwed.

  Having lived all of her life in the wide-open spaces of the Rockies, she found being cooped up like this the nearest thing to hell she could imagine. And her personal devil was staring right at her.

  Rifkin.

  He grinned at her and cupped his crotch suggestively, looking even more intimidating in the fatigues and steel-toed shit-kickers he favored.

  He scared her spitless. She licked her lips, but her parched tongue did little to dampen them. She’d thirstily consumed all the fluids she’d had on hand. Rejecting the water Rifkin offered earlier added to her tally of insults. Her fear must have shown on her face, because Rifkin leered at her with a lasciviousness full of unvoiced threats.

  The perspiration coating her body brought on by the heat was replaced by the cold sweat of terror. She dreaded the moment Bardo Redmaven rescinded his order she wasn’t to be touched.

  Rifkin had become her personal nightmare. She’d seen him transform into his were-form to become a black mass of sheer power. He’d barreled forward, knocking people out his way like ninepins. What horrified her most was the way his grotesquely elongated fangs cut through the chest of his opponent like a scythe.

  Aimee had seen kills before. In the inherently violent society she belonged, fights to the death occurred often. Yet, the image of the blood and detritus that splattered everyone and everything in the room as he literally shredded the hapless opponent etched itself permanently in her mind. The smell lingered as a warning not to cross him.

  Rifkin used Bardo’s absence to build a power base. He swayed most of the malcontents and bullied the lesser betas into submission. Some of the few he tried to persuade…Well, their pelts were riveted to the wall, the stench a constant reminder of what could happen if you opposed him. Maintaining order was his excuse. Every were who wasn’
t one of his cronies was on edge.

  With growing dread, she’d watched the balance of power in the Redmaven pack shift subtly over the couple of weeks since they’d moved her here. By her calculations, the one person who stood between her and Rifkin, Micah’s name would come up for long-range patrol in the rotation soon. The fore-fighters he ran with would go with him, leaving her vulnerable.

  Aimee dragged her gaze from her nemesis to look over at to the single exit with longing for the outdoors. Even if she managed to pick the lock on her pen, she’d have to evade the Redmavens in her enervated state. She’d never make it.

  Aimee forced back her rising panic, and gave Rifkin a snarky, kiss-my-ass smile, loaded with her disdain and contempt for him. She was a Lunedare, she reminded herself.

  We don’t take crap from anybody.

  And since she didn’t, Aimee flipped him the bird.

  His smirk twisted into a heavy scowl. How much longer she would have the small pleasure of flashing him the finger, Aimee didn’t know, because she felt her time was running out.

  Rifkin sprang to his feet and charged in her direction.

  Aimee scuttled back until her back hit the sun-heated zinc wall. If Micah was here, Rifkin wouldn’t have dared, but her protector was out on a supply run. She hoped to God he returned soon.

  As if in answer to her prayer, the door swung open and Micah Redmaven stood in the doorway, tension and wariness coming off him in waves. He looked a little worse for wear. His lower lip was swollen and split, and a raw abrasion glistened wetly on his cheekbone as it healed.

  His eyes zeroed in on her, and his stance relaxed. Then he studied the weres in the room. Micah’s gaze met Rifkin’s narrow-eyed stare for few a tense seconds. Not at all intimidated, Micah quirked a brow.

  Rifkin bristled and glared at Micah again as if he were a thorn in his paw he couldn’t pull out. The animosity between the two weres was tangible.

  Micah gestured to the door with his head. “The pickup needs unloading.” He sauntered across the debris-strewn floor, passing through the path opened for him by the weres in his way.