Mackenzie McKade

by Black Widow (lit)

  Martin stumbled and this time Roark caught him. The agony on the man’s face was difficult to bear as he looked up at Roark. “Lamia? The rumors are true. My son is dead and a legendary hybrid has been created.”

  Uh-oh. The pack knew about Tammy.

  Martin closed his eyes. When they opened something close to fear brightened them. “Damn the boy. Has she been destroyed?”

  “No.” Roark released Martin. Just the thought of losing Tammy made every muscle and tendon in his body stiffen. “The woman is my mate,” he admitted without shame. “That is the reason I have yet to return home.” He squared his shoulders as the whispers began anew. It started as a hum that grew in strength and volume.

  Martin shook his head in rapid movements. “That can’t be. You’ve heard the tales, boy. She’s dangerous. You’re lucky to be alive. Although my lineage runs through her veins, she must be destroyed.”

  That was something Roark would never allow.

  “Your mate!” Someone roared with laughter. Too absorbed with Martin’s remark and the cloud of sorrow that surrounded him, Roark hadn’t seen Layton approach, but his guards had as they rallied closer. Layton, Roark’s cousin, had been a thorn in Roark’s paw since the wolf hit puberty. He was itching to take control of the pack.

  The werewolf whirled his muscular body around to the crowd and announced. “Our leader has taken a vampire to his bed. Grady will find no justice here.” He began to pace back and forth between Roark and the crowd. His movements were fast and agitated, an intentional move to incite the pack into action—and it worked. Several more of his people morphed into their wolf forms. The sound of bones popping, the musky scent of fur filled Roark’s senses.

  White-hot fury rushed through him. His beast raised its head and howled, even as he fought to remain focused. “Careful, Layton.” He kept his tone low, but firm. The change begged to be released as it pushed against every nerve ending. Family meant everything to Roark, but if he was forced to fight, he would.

  “Careful?” Layton snickered, the derisive sound grated across Roark’s skin like fingernails scraping a chalkboard. Layton leveled his glare on Roark. “Where’s the bitch? I’ll kill her myself.” He paused, taunting Roark with the words. His tone dropped, as he announced, “It’s time for you to step down, old man.”

  Old Man? Layton was five years younger than Roark’s thirty-two in human years. Yet the fact remained, it was a blatant challenge. What was worse, Layton had threatened Tammy and that was something Roark could not let go unanswered.

  The pack grew quiet, waiting to see what he would do. Layton had left him no choice. If a fight is what he wanted, a fight it would be.

  Donne stepped from the house as a sentry of vampires folded around him. Their protective stance wasn’t hard to recognize. No one was getting to their master without an all out war.

  A familiar high-pitched female’s voice rose. “Let me through.” Tammy pushed through the guards and came to stand by Donne. She gripped his arm. “Don’t let him do this,” she pleaded.

  Across the courtyard, Roark’s and Tammy’s gazes met, their beasts touched. He saw fear in her eyes and knew that she sensed his disquiet. The robe she wore parted as she jerked forward to come to him, but Donne’s outstretched hand grasped her arm, stopping her.

  Roark’s eyes shifted to Donne. “Get her out of here. It will not bode well for us if she is present. She is too soon converted to witness such violence.” He spoke on their mental path. No way would Tammy be able to restrain herself if a fight ensued. The mere movement of Roark’s eyes gave away his concern for her. Layton jumped on Roark’s moment of weakness.

  “So that’s the bitch.” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Let me at her,” he taunted Roark. “How about it, old man? Do you want me to do what you were unable to—kill her?”

  Roark’s pulse leaped as Tammy tried once again to break Donne’s hold and come to him. His beast flung itself against his skin to be released, needing to protect her. Slowly, Roark began to remove his shirt. “Are you sure you want this?”

  Layton stripped his sweater over his head, ruffling his hair, the same color as Roark’s. “Oh yeah.” Layton’s shoes and jeans were quickly removed. Roark followed suit, until both of them were naked, glaring at each other. A growl vibrated in the back of Roark’s throat as he freed his hold on the beast allowing the change to begin.

  Thick hair pushed from Roark’s pores, covering him in a silky coat of auburn fur. As his jaw popped and his muzzle stretched, he issued another warning. “I will not be merciful.” His words were slurred and garbled with the alteration of his mouth elongating. The hackles along the ridge of his back rose as his body continued to shift. Neither made the change swiftly, it was more posturing, using each distorted feature merely for effect. At one time they both stood before each other caught between man and wolf. Their steps awkward as their feet changed into paws with long, sharp claws.

  Layton snarled, baring his teeth. His eyes were bright with the heat of the upcoming battle. Roark could hear the wolf’s heartbeat race and smell the foolish scent of victory the imbecile thought was already his.

  They both completed the shift, landing on all fours at the same time. Roark crossed the space between them in one leap. Mid-air he heard Tammy screamed his name, but there was nothing he could do as his body slammed into Layton’s, knocking him to the hard ground. Layton was lithe, twisting and jumping to his feet quickly.

  Circling, using slow, guarded steps, they took each other’s measure. Both snarled and issued warning growls, which Roark knew were worthless. Layton would not back down and neither would he.

  The crowd closed in around them, staying far enough away so that they would not hamper the fight. Roark could smell their need for blood—blood that would inflame the vampires, but more importantly drive Tammy into a heated frenzy. Bloodlust was hard to control for the strongest of lycanthropes or vampires. Instinctively, he knew she had not returned to their room. He didn’t have time to think of her further as Layton lunged for his throat.

  Roark feinted to the right, twisting so his jaw closed around the back of the wolf’s head. The taste of fur filled his mouth. He held Layton motionless, using his weight and strength to intimidate him and give the idiot the opportunity to reconsider his actions. When that didn’t happen, he raised the wolf into the air and slung him to the side.

  Jaws snapping and paws flailing, Layton tried to gain footing. He slammed to the ground, crying out. His claws scraped air and then the grassy area beneath him as he sprung to his feet. He shook his head as if disoriented. It took only seconds for Layton to regain his composure. He raised his hackles in an attempt to appear bigger—intimidate Roark, but it was useless. Panting heavily, Layton was high in fight drive when he charged.

  Once again, Roark dodged the attack to his throat. Instead Layton’s teeth sank into Roark’s shoulder. Like a steel trap, Layton’s jaws clamped down hard enough to draw blood. For a moment, Layton stilled. Saliva dripped from his mouth, his breath hot against Roark’s fur. A menacing growl slid between the wolf’s teeth, before he viciously shook his head side to side, an attempt to rip and tear Roark’s flesh before he released him.

  Tammy screamed. Through a fog he heard her cry his name again. From the corner of his eye he saw her fighting against Donne’s embrace and another vampire assisting his leader. Roark ignored the pain—the smell of his own blood. He tried to erase the fact that another man touched Tammy. The wolf lunging toward him was all he needed.

  Wolves rarely fought to the death. Their fights were mostly symbolic to establish the dominance hierarchy. But Layton’s action spoke clearly. He intended to kill Roark.

  With a sudden push to his hind feet, Roark leaped into the air at his foe. Layton’s teeth lacerated him again before he shook himself free.

  Both rearing up on their hind legs, they threw themselves at each other. Biting and growling, spittle flung through the air. Tuffs of fur floated upon the steady bre
eze.

  And blood…

  Their fur was matted with blood and saliva as their teeth tore into each other. Time after time, Roark felt Layton’s teeth. Each time he returned the wolf’s bite with one of his own.

  Layton was becoming winded beneath Roark’s strength as he again picked the wolf up and slammed him to the ground. His powerful jaws closed around Layton’s throat. The young wolf stilled. He whimpered, knowing death was seconds away. Heart racing, his breathing labored, Roark’s jaws pulsed. His heart beat like drums pounding in his ears. Slowly he exerted pressure and began to crush bone and muscle beneath his hold.

  A gentle hand on his shoulder made him pause. Through a cloud of rage, he shook with the force it took to stop his kill in mid-stream.

  “Don’t, Roark,” Tammy cried. The wind teased the hem of her robe as she knelt beside him. The scent of her heat seeped through the stench of battle permeating his nose. He knew the rest of the clan had scented her as they stirred moving closer. “Please release him.” Her voice shook. “There’s been too much blood spilled on my account.”

  Martin stood over her. Weariness made his body sag, aging him before Roark’s eyes. “She’s right, son. Your dominance has been established. There is no need to kill a strong male, especially when our race dwindles in numbers and he is family.”

  Roark tried to shake the blood-lust from his head. The sudden movement forced another whimper of pain from Layton. Roark shudder with the effort it took to not finished what had been put into motion. Kill Layton.

  “Please,” Tammy slurred. Canines pushed from her gums, pressing against her bottom lip. Her eyes went wild with the taste of her own blood. Hands fisted, her face twisted in pain as the first spasm struck. She needed him.

  Taking his gaze off Tammy, Roark released Layton. Alert, Roark stood, ready to reestablish his hold if his cousin made the slightest wrong move, especially toward Tammy. The beaten wolf rolled over on his paws, crouching low. He tucked his tail between his legs and whined.

  Roark had won.

  The pack rushed him even as he allowed the change to sweep over him. Bones crackled and tendons stretched. His shoulder ached as his body twisted, shaping back into human form. He hadn’t remained in wolf form long enough for all his wounds to heal and he felt every one of the lacerations as he looked around for Tammy. Excitement charged the air as it always did when there was a fight for dominance. Lycanthropes pushed and shoved to get next to Roark, which carried him further away instead of closer to her.

  “I’m proud of you boy,” Martin said patting him firmly on the back.

  “Thank you, sir.” When Roark looked around the crowd again their attention wasn’t focused upon him anymore. In fact they were surrounding something or someone on the ground.

  Chapter Ten

  Tammy couldn’t breathe as she scrambled away from Roark and the crowd. Battle lust had swept over her fast and furious with the scent of blood during the fight. It had excited her as well as scared the hell out of her. She had the uncontrollable urge to experience her teeth piercing and ripping the flesh as the wolf fought him. Yet she had found the strength to move away from Marcellus and come to Roark’s side to beg for the stranger’s life.

  Wrong move. Her act of kindness had turned against her. Being so close, the smell of the wolf’s imminent death, and the taste of her own blood upon her tongue had been her breaking point. The scene overloaded her senses and sent her mind spiraling. If she hadn’t thrown herself to the ground, Tammy would have changed and joined Roark. Even now as she hugged her knees, rocking back and forth, involuntary spasms erupted, tightening around her stomach and squeezing until she felt her body being torn apart from the inside out. Mentally, she attempted to fight her beast. It struggled for dominance. Tears stung her eyes. Her skin crawled with the need to shift into her wolf form. When she felt her red satin robe slip from her shoulders, someone drew the material up covering them only to caress her bare skin in the process. The warmth of his flesh touching hers sent her hunger into action.

  Baring her fangs, she tossed back her mane of hair, the wind catching the long strands so they haloed around her head before cascading down her back. A hiss slid through her quivering lips. The crowd gasped, stumbling back before they fell silent.

  The rest was a nightmare.

  Like a demon spawned from hell she moved with preternatural speed. One minute she was on the ground, the next she was wrapped around the man who had touched her. As her teeth sunk deep into his neck and she began to suck, he stopped struggling and groaned a resonated sound of pleasure giving in to the seductive power of her bite. He lay submissively in her arms, willing to take anything she offered.

  The rich taste of his blood fed the hunger inside her. But she needed more—so much more. Her body was burning up with need. She tore at his clothing, hearing buttons pop and seams give way beneath her strength. Somewhere inside, Tammy knew this man couldn’t quench her sexual need, but the desire to feel skin, anybody’s, next to hers was overpowering.

  “Tammy!” Someone yelled her name, but her mind was a haze. There were only two things she wanted—sex and blood—and she wanted it now.

  Familiar hands grabbed her around the waist, but she held on to her victim with all her might. In turn, he fought to remain with her as a group of men tried to pry them apart. The sound of steam releasing had nothing on the menacing hiss bursting from between her teeth when they succeeded. Through a fog of bloodlust and desire she glared up to see Roark.

  “Stop fighting me.” Tammy wasn’t sure if it was his firm demand or the none-too-gentle way he shook her that broke through her craze. In the next second, his arms folded around her and his voice softened. “Please.”

  Tammy choked on air rushing her starved lungs. It stung, ached, making her more aware of her body, especially her blood which felt like it ran cold and then hot through her veins. Chills raked her as she tried to pull herself together. Feeding and Roark’s naked body pressed to hers quieted the bloodlust, but not entirely. She needed to feel his mouth on her breasts, his cock buried inside her, and she needed to take the robe off, it was suffocating.

  Tammy’s teeth chattered. “I-I thought I c-could handle it.” But she hadn’t. When the hunger became too much, she had attacked the closest person to her. If they hadn’t stopped her from feeding, could she have taken control before it was too late?

  “Damn Donne.” Roark rocked her in his arms as his gaze searched the crowd. When his frown deepened, Tammy knew he had found Marcellus standing off to the side, holding onto the man she had attacked. “He shouldn’t have let you witness this. You are too vulnerable to control the response to violence which is only natural to one of our kind.”

  She sucked in another breath. “Not his fault—mine.” Shame made her look away from Roark. Was she really going to rape the man in front of all these people? Her body ached. The robe rasping across her nipples felt more like razor blades cutting into the peaks. Needle sharp pains shot through her womb. She clenched her jaws, but she needed to know. “I-is he all right?”

  Roark brushed the remaining tears from her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart. In fact, he is fighting Martin and Donne to get closer to you. I believe he is enamored with you.” He tried to make light of the situation, but she knew differently. There was a bitterness in the air. Fear. Anger. Disgust. The last one made the contents of her stomach roll.

  A tall, robust man with shoulder-length dark hair stepped to Roark’s side. In his outstretched hands he held Roark’s crumpled shirt.

  “Thank you, Stephen.”

  Stephen nodded and then positioned himself between Roark and the crowd, standing sentry while Roark moved her gently off his lap and pushed to his feet. Another man who looked identical to the one guarding them handed Roark his jeans. He took a moment to step into his pants and zip them, before he leaned down and tugged the robe securely around her shoulders. “Let’s get you inside.” He intertwined his fingers in hers, but she jerked away from him. “No. I ne
ed to apologize.”

  “Tammy, you’re in no condition for social calls,” Roark insisted, reaching for her again. This time she let him assist her to her feet.

  “Please.” Her legs felt like rubber. She swayed, leaning on him for support, but in truth it was the heat of his body she drew strength from. Feeding had lessened her hunger, but there was still the matter of her sexual needs gnawing inside her, breaking down what resistance she held desperately to. “What is his name?”

  “Manny,” Roark whispered in her ear. “Like Stephen and Franc, he is a member of my guard.” Stephen moved to his right as Franc stepped beside Tammy.

  When they approached, she heard Marcellus apologizing for the death of Martin’s son. He was trying to explain the events of that fateful night, but the hurt in the old man’s eyes said he wasn’t ready or couldn’t accept the vampire’s atonement. Three lycanthropes now strained to hold on to Manny as he fought for release. Hair the color of hers, with eyes a deep emerald, Manny was a striking young man. His body looked as if hard work had carved every muscle outlined by his tight black T-shirt. Cotton blue jeans caressed his thighs.