Sought by the Alphas Complete Boxed Set: A Paranormal Romance Serial

by Carina Wilder

  Gwynne looked towards Ygrena. “You’d be what now?”

  “Flayed. Skinned alive. You know.”

  “Not really. That sounds pretty horrible.”

  “Well, then, I’ll keep calling you ‘my lady.’”

  “Fair enough.” Gwynne paused for a moment before asking, “Are you a shifter, Ygrena?”

  “No. None of the women are, really.”

  “The women?”

  “The women. Any women. There are almost no female shifters.”

  “Really? Then how are the males born?”

  “There were many once. Many females.” Ygrena led Gwynne into a round chamber. At its center stood an iron tub filled with steaming water. “They have died off, though. So the men who live now are the last of them.”

  “This is news,” said Gwynne. “How did they die?”

  “Many were murdered. Others poisoned. But that came after an illness that seemed only to take the women.”

  “An illness,” said Gwynne, trying to remember the dates of the bubonic plague. “But poisoned? Murdered? By whom?”

  “Others.”

  “Other shifters?” This Ygrena sure was brief in her answers.

  “Yes. Other species. Those who want the clan dead.”

  As Ygrena helped her off with her gown, it occurred to Gwynne that maybe the reason she’d been chosen as the mate of the clan was more complex than she’d thought. But she was no shifter. How on earth could she help them?

  “And you? Why are you here?” asked Gwynne as she stepped into the tub. The water was hot, but not scalding, and felt delicious on her feet and legs.

  “I am a courtesan,” said Ygrena. “I am here for the pleasure of the males. And to serve you.”

  “You’re here to have sex with the men?”

  Ygrena blushed then. “Yes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Whichever ones want me.”

  “That seems…extreme,” said Gwynne, though a curiosity defeated the disgust that she felt, which was directed at the men of the clan rather than at this poor, seemingly innocent young woman.

  “It is my duty. It keeps them happy, at least temporarily.”

  “And you? Are you happy?”

  “I am fine. It’s an honour to be chosen.”

  “Tell me, Ygrena,” said Gwynne as the servant brushed a sponge over her back, “do you sleep with all the men?”

  “No. Not all. Never Lachlan.” Ygrena seemed to be reading Gwynne’s mind.

  “But Rauth?”

  Ygrena remained silent and Gwynne knew the answer.

  “So why not Lachlan?”

  “He’s different,” she said. Gwynne could hear a smile in her words. “He’s respectful.”

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  “The women envy you, my lady. Gwynne, I mean. For getting to be with him.”

  “Do they?”

  “Yes. We are all so curious. He’s…different.”

  “Well, I don’t kiss and tell. So I’m afraid I won’t be satisfying your curiosity.”

  “Oh, no. Of course not.”

  “Unless I’m drunk.”

  Ygrena finally let out a quiet chuckle.

  “Anyhow, I haven’t been with either leader yet,” said Gwynne.

  “But you will be.”

  Gwynne pondered this. Yes, she would be. Again and again, from the sounds of things. Until she was pregnant. And then? That was the question. What would happen after she’d conceived?

  Ygrena held out a large towel for her to use when she was through with her bath. Surprisingly it was made of very modern-looking terrycloth.

  “This towel—it’s from my time,” she said.

  “Lachlan and others have brought items to us over the years. He thought that perhaps you’d be more comfortable with familiar things.”

  “He really is thoughtful, isn’t he?” said Gwynne. Not a typical alpha male, that one.

  Ygrena didn’t answer immediately.

  “So tell me, is there a special man in your life, Ygrena?”

  “There is…one man…a shifter. I prefer him to all the others.”

  Gwynne felt sympathy for the young woman. “Could you marry him?”

  “Marry? No, we don’t marry. I would not be suitable.”

  “God, I keep hearing that word. Suitable. Like you’re a hat one wears to church on Sundays. Does he care about you?”

  “I think so, my lady.”

  “Well, then, you should be with him.”

  “But I cannot bear his young.”

  “Well, it sounds like no one can. Except me. And I have my hands a little full.”

  “It’s true, my lady.”

  “So you should at least tell this man how you feel. Who is he? A guard?”

  “A member of the pack. He is young, like me. He’s strong, too, and aggressive. He’s won some tournaments and even fought in battles. He’s fought the flyers.”

  “The flyers?” As the words emerged from her mouth, Gwynne knew the answer to her own question. She must have been referring to Kapral and those who had assaulted her. “Are there many of them?”

  “Yes, quite a lot. But not so many as the wolves. Though they have allies, some of which are human.”

  “You know, Ygrena,” said Gwynne as the maid dressed her, “you’ve told me more than any of the men have. I can’t seem to get answers around here.”

  “Perhaps I’ve said too much.” Ygrena looked bashful, slightly remorseful.

  “No, you haven’t. It’s very helpful information.” Gwynne turned to her and put her hands on her shoulders. “Please don’t ever keep anything from me.”

  “All right, my lady.”

  * * *

  Encounters 15

  Gwynne’s first official dinner in the castle was that evening.

  “It will only be a small gathering,” Ygrena had told her while she dressed her in a flowing gown that exposed her white shoulders. “Some of the shifters, those closest to the lords Rauth and Lachlan.” Gwynne liked Lachlan being referred to as a lord, somehow.

  But when the courtesan had escorted her, it was to a large chamber of stone with a ceiling at least two hundred feet high; not a place for intimate dinners. In its middle stood a long, dark wood table flanked by at least a hundred chairs, all occupied by men.

  “This is more than a small gathering,” she whispered to Ygrena.

  “But it is only a fraction of our army,” the woman said.

  “Impressive.”

  Gwynne had no real complaints; the room was full of men who were perfect specimens. Large, strong, beautiful. All currently turned to look at her.

  They didn’t look identical, but many bore traits similar to Rauth’s and Lachlan’s, strong jaws, broad chests. And every set of eyes was the light blue of a wolf shifter.

  The dress of rich red that Ygrena had given Gwynne to wear had a train which trailed behind her as she walked. A corset forced her breasts up as she’d seen in Gwendolyn’s portrait, which created a white roundness that wasn’t at all displeasing to her. She’d always appreciated those particular assets, if nothing else about her body. But as she felt two hundred eyes on her, however, she wondered if she might be showing too much.

  “Do I look all right?” she whispered as the young woman escorted her to her seat.

  “Beautiful, my lady.”

  The men stood as Gwynne approached a chair that had been set out for her; a tall, ornately carved wooden seat which reminded her of thrones from fairy tales. On either side stood Lachlan and Rauth.

  “My lady,” said Lachlan, nodding reverently. Gwynne nodded back.

  Rauth stared at her, his eyes as usual making almost immediate contact with her breasts. He never seemed eager to hide what he was thinking, that one. Except when it came to the important things like Gwynne’s purpose in his time.

  “Now that the lady Gwendolyn is in our presence,” Rauth announced to the room when she’d sat down, “It is my pleasure to announce that the ritu
al will take place a week from today.”

  Cheers rose up from the table, the men smashing goblets and fists on the hard wood.

  Gwynne looked at Lachlan, smiling uncomfortably.

  “The doctor has issued the approval,” he said quietly, leaning towards her. “So it is safe to…it is safe to be with you. To be inside you, my cwen.”

  “Ah,” she said. She was at a loss to come up with a more clever retort; the thought of Lachlan’s cock inside her was rather distracting.

  Rauth sat once again and took a goblet of wine in his hand. He laid fingers on Gwynne’s thigh.

  “Soon,” he said. “Your pleasure will be immense. You will see.” With that he gave her a squeeze, sliding his hand upwards so that it grazed the sensitive place between her legs, and then proceeded to speak in a lively manner to the man next to him.

  Gwynne turned to Lachlan. “How do you feel about all this? The ritual, I mean,” she asked.

  “It is something I have awaited for a long time,” he said. “It would be a lie to say that I’m not excited, eager to pleasure you.”

  “Good.” Gwynne smiled to herself. She would have been lying to say that she wasn’t eager to be pleasured, after all.

  A moment later she continued. “So listen, there’s something I want to understand. We’re in your—and Rauth’s—time. How do we, or I, go back?”

  “I must take you, my lady. Through a portal.”

  “I see. So I can only travel with you?”

  “Most shifters are capable of traveling. Any one of them would do.”

  “But I can’t go on my own?”

  “No. You aren’t capable.”

  “I see.”

  “This makes you feel imprisoned,” he said. “But I would take you back anytime, you know.”

  “Thank you. I suppose I do feel trapped. A little, anyhow. It’s not that I don’t like it here, it’s just…”

  “It’s not the life you’re accustomed to. I understand.”

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Of course.” With that, Lachlan reached out and took Gwynne’s hand. He stroked her palm gently with his large thumb, soothing her frazzled nerves.

  As Gwynne took nervous bites of her dinner, she listened to the conversation around her. Men seemed to stretch for miles in each direction, speaking of war.

  “When will we go to battle?” one was asking.

  “Nothing will be clear until after the ritual,” Rauth said.

  “How then will we plan? You’re saying that we need to wait a week before we can strategize?”

  “Patience. All of you. We will plan as we always do, using the resources at hand. This is not something to rush.” This time it was Lachlan who spoke. As usual, he was clear, level-headed and sensible. Rauth glared at him.

  “We will have to rush it when the time comes,” he growled. “We don’t have the luxury to be patient.”

  “I agree,” said a voice from down the table. Gwynne’s head shot to her right. To her surprise it was a woman’s voice, from among a sea of males.

  “Who’s that?” Gwynne asked Lachlan.

  “That’s Bree. She’s a member of our army,” he said. “Of the pack, that is.”

  “I thought there were no female shifters.”

  “There are…a few,” said Lachlan. Something in his voice told Gwynne that it was complicated and perhaps best left to another time.

  Bree was large, like her; broad-shouldered. A warrior. She sat between two even larger men, but Gwynne could see that she could likely hold her own in battle. A female wolf. Why wasn’t she the chosen mate?

  “I don’t wish to wait and see what this woman can do,” Bree was saying now. She gestured towards Gwynne as though she weren’t even in the room, dismissive, disrespectful. “Our futures shouldn’t rely on her.”

  “Well, they do,” said Rauth. “All of our futures do.”

  “Um…” Gwynne was having difficulty keeping her mouth shut. The pressure of the words seemed to build in her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

  “She looks weak,” said Bree, standing. Gwynne could see that she must be at least five-foot-eleven.

  “She is nothing of the sort,” said Lachlan, standing in turn. “And I suggest, Bree, that you take your seat before you say something you might regret.”

  Gwynne could see that his hands were digging into the wooden table, long claws emerging and piercing the surface.

  “She’s no one,” Bree said. “Just a human.” With that, she sat, defeated momentarily. Gwynne looked at her. The blue eyes of the shifter pierced her as though driving a dagger into her. This was pure hatred.

  “I am no one,” said Gwynne quietly. Around her, the room went silent. “I am no one. But I came here for a reason. I know that. And I have no idea how I can help you fight, or win. But I’ll do everything I can.” With that, she stood and left the room.

  * * *

  Encounters 16

  Gwynne lay on her bed, staring at a painted scene of a knight fighting a dragon on the ceiling above her. This place was so alien, yet so welcoming. Like a home she’d never known she had. Inside its walls were two men who desired her like no woman had a right to be desired, one woman who seemed to hate her and a whole lot of shifters who seemed to think she was some sort of Chosen One.

  And in that moment all she wanted was to curl up into a ball and sleep. This was the time when she wanted—needed—a mother.

  “Gwynne.” The word was spoken softly from the shadows. She’d left her door ajar. It always seemed rude to shut it, somehow, but it seemed equally rude for anyone to barge in.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Come on in.”

  Lachlan made his way to her side, his light eyes fixed on her face. She turned to him and allowed herself a weak smile.

  “That woman Bree’s not crazy about me, is she?”

  “She’ll learn to love you. You’re a waerganga, a stranger. She sees you as an intruder. She doesn’t understand yet what you are.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” said Gwynne, sitting up and wrapping her forearms around her knees.

  Lachlan positioned himself respectfully at the foot of the bed as though to tell her that he wasn’t threatening, that he wouldn’t touch her.

  “Don’t sit all the way down there,” Gwynne said. “Please. I need a…a friend.”

  With that, Lachlan rose and moved towards her. His tunic was open at the neck, revealing tanned skin and a portion of muscled chest that momentarily made Gwynne forget her troubles.

  He sat again, placing a hand on top of her knees, which she lowered. Her bare feet stuck out under the hem of her dress. “Just like the painting in the pub,” she laughed. “Bare feet. And a wolf.”

  Lachlan reached over and teased her toes with his fingertips, smiling, before letting his hand slide up her ankle. He turned to watch her expression as he continued to move it up, pushing her dress as he went.

  Gwynne locked eyes with him, determined as usual to compete in the staring contest that he would invariably win, as though to challenge him to keep going.

  She straightened her spine, her dress loose around the neck. White skin beckoned to Lachlan, who now pushed with both hands, raising the bottom hem over her knees.

  “You’re so deliciously white,” he said, his eyes veering away from her own for once.

  “And you’re so deliciously tanned,” she replied. Her right index finger played with the exposed flesh on his chest, which was damp with perspiration. Gwynne smelled him now, aroused, excited, as she was.

  She allowed her knees to part as Lachlan’s hand continued its path up her thigh. It had now made its way to the soft flesh only inches from her pussy, which she knew was wet for him, aching for his touch. As usual in this place she was wearing no undergarments, and it was now only a matter of seconds before he made contact. The thought of it was exquisite.

  With his left hand, Lachlan took Gwynne’s right and held it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. She
extended her index finger and stroked its tip along his full lips. It was easy to imagine now how they’d feel on her nipples, on her own lips, on her pussy.

  As if reading her mind he pursed his lips around the very tip of her finger, warm wetness engulfing it as he sucked gently. His tongue tasted her even as his right hand finally met its destination, and Gwynne let out a soft moan, her eyes closing.

  Lachlan’s eyes narrowed as he stroked her, two fingers rubbing the narrow crevices which surrounded her clit, then moving to the center, coating themselves in her wetness.

  “Your body is heaven,” he said, inhaling her scent. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  “I can’t wait to have you there,” she groaned as fingers explored her most delicate nerves, massaging her wet flesh, exploring her sensitivity. Gwynne felt herself go hot under his touch.

  She pulled her finger away from his mouth and Lachlan leaned sideways, eyes now on the pink petals between her legs.

  Gwynne realized with an amused grin that a shaved pussy was a new phenomenon for him, but then she hadn’t asked Ygrena in their chats how the women tended their gardens, as it were. She wondered now if Lachlan liked what he saw.

  Apparently he did; the shifter’s nose was close now to her lips, breathing in her musky scent. “God, yes,” he said before his tongue darted out and licked her in a quick stroke, teasing her clit as he’d done to her toes earlier.

  Then he eased closer still and kissed her hard bud, his fingers pulling her lips open as he did so. Gwynne put her head back and allowed her dress to fall away from her shoulders, the top sliding down so that her nipples were exposed to the cool air over the corset which pushed her round breasts upwards.

  Seeing this, Lachlan eased forwards and took her right nipple between his lips, lengthening its dark pink firmness as he sucked, his right hand delicately pinching the stone-hard bud on her left breast as he did so. Gwynne felt his tongue flick over the tip as she let out soft moans. She could almost come this way, she thought.

  “I have wanted to eat you since that moment I saw you in the pub,” Lachlan said, looking towards her face. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to wait.”