Fur, Fangs and All (The Elementals Book 2)

by Meredith Allen Conner

  Livie tipped her head back in thought. She’d had maybe four her entire life. And they’d all been self-induced.

  Men, in her opinion, knew all about grabbing tits and ass and three minutes of thrusting, but nothing at all about pleasuring a woman.

  She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d considered having sex with a man. Why did Mac’s friend Roc buy this stuff? He had at least six different subscriptions to women’s magazines that she knew of. Maybe he was gay? No, that didn’t make sense. There were magazines for gay men, if he was gay, he would just subscribe to those magazines.

  Maybe he had a secret lingerie fetish and liked looking at the ads in the magazines? Or maybe he had a hoarding problem and kept stacks of women’s magazines lying around his house? Heck, for all she knew he might shred the magazines with his claws – no, cats did that. Who knew what dogs or wolves did with magazines?

  The muted rumble of a powerful engine and the crunching of gravel under big tires caught her attention. Livie scooted up slightly, but couldn’t see out the window. It must be Cam. Mac said he would be coming over today.

  Although he also said that his friend Roc would be arriving today as well to catch them up on what he learned while chasing down the Order. Livie hoped he found out where the head of the group was located. If they could eliminate them she would be that much safer when she left.

  After a lifetime of being on the run and chased by the fanatical Order of the Elements, being safe in the world for even a day sounded like a miracle. And just as impossible to envision.

  She’d come to appreciate a certain level of safety over the last few weeks staying in Mac’s house. His only neighbors were his werewolf clan members. With their super senses, no one could get close to the town without their knowledge. Livie had been relatively safe for the first time. As safe as one could be surrounded by werewolves.

  A door slammed, Livie craned her head, but couldn’t hear anything more. Sela could probably hear the visitor and Mac had probably heard the truck when it was still miles away.

  Still. Livie eased her knife onto her lap where it was more readily accessible.

  She scratched her right wrist. Obnoxious werewolf. She didn’t care for the fact that mating with Mac increased all of Sela’s senses. It made her seem even more non-human. She had a hard enough time dealing with Sela’s power being active. She didn’t want to worry about her turning into a werewolf as well. Sela assured her that wouldn’t happen, but when Sela cocked her head and listened to things Livie never heard . . . a chill went down her spine. She hated it all.

  She needed to leave soon. Before it all became too much, and she started screaming like a . . . well, like a girl.

  Livie rubbed the magazine against her wrist. A brisk knock rapped at the front door, barely perfunctory, since the door opened immediately and a deep male voice called out, “Mac? Cam?”

  Definitely not Cam. She didn’t recognize that voice at all. And why did her heart speed up when she heard it? Cheeze-its, she almost panted and – she ran a hand over her cheek – her skin felt flushed. She rubbed her wrist, the skin just above the familiar circular mark stung like crazy.

  Maybe I’m coming down with the flu? Not good. Sela would have her confined to her bed for another week.

  Firm, determined footsteps echoed in the hall, heading toward the office. Livie sat up. She’d do the polite thing, say “hello” to Mac’s friend and then beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom. There had to be aspirin or something in the bathroom that she could take and Sela would never know.

  She stood up quickly. Too quickly. Her knife clattered to the floor. She wobbled as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her legs became tangled in the blanket. She put her hand out, grabbed the arm of the chair for balance then bent her head down as she waited for the dizziness to pass.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  No time to wait it out. She didn’t want this stranger, this unknown werewolf, to see her ill. An easy target. Any hint of weakness in front of a predator was not a good thing. She’d be easy prey. A potential victim.

  The Order had taught her all she needed to know about her own vulnerability.

  She pushed herself upright, weaving from side to side. Her wrist burned like crazy now. Her chest constricted until she gasped for air.

  Forget saying “hello”, she just wanted to get to her room before she passed out and before Sela saw her.

  Livie stepped forward. In her haste she forgot about the blanket. It had attached itself to her legs like a mutant grape vine on steroids.

  She flapped her arms, wind-milling in desperation as she plummeted forward then tightened her abs and managed to pull herself back from a nasty face plant. She caught herself again on the backward plunge with her hand on the top of the chair.

  She had just managed to stand nearly upright when that dark, disturbing voice came at her again, much closer, “You okay?”

  Livie shrieked and pitched forward. Strong, hard hands caught her just before her face met the floor. As soon as his hands touched her, a blast of pure energy jolted through her system. It swirled and gathered and poured through her until it exploded, blasting out from her body in a tight circle emanating from her inner right wrist.

  Livie shouted and Mac’s friend jerked his hands away from her as if he’d been burned. Damn him. She didn’t even have time to thrust her hands out.

  She hit the floor. Landing on her face.

  Her nose and forehead took the brunt of the fall. Her lower lip split. The knot on her forehead began to swell immediately and she knew that in just a few minutes a large goose egg would form. Warm liquid pooled beneath her nose and mouth. She couldn’t tell if the blood came from her nose or the cut on her lip. More than likely both.

  There was no way she’d be able to hide this from Sela.

  Or the scary werewolf at her back.

  “Shit. Are you okay?”

  The voice was back again, along with the hands. Large, firm and radiating heat, those hands wrapped under her shoulders. Livie instinctively braced for more pain, but this time nothing happened. Instead of pain, an odd gentle warmth started to flow through her.

  Her forehead was not quite as tender as it had been just seconds before and she could swear the blood flowing from her cuts actually started to slow. Her wrist no longer burned, it pulsed with the warmth instead.

  She turned her head to look at her wrist and froze. Did he just sniff her? Dear god, this stranger – werewolf – really was sniffing her. What did he want? What did he plan to do?

  “Blood. So sweet. Perfect,” he husked, just above her, maybe a few inches at the most. But the most terrifying thing to Livie was the guttural growl in his voice. Deep and rumbling, it vibrated along the sensitive nerves in her neck.

  He smelled her blood. Did he plan to eat her? Mac and Sela were still upstairs. She was alone, completely alone, with him. She couldn’t fight him. She remembered the other werewolves in battle. Their strength awed and horrified her. She didn’t stand a chance.

  No, wait. Her knife. It had fallen to the floor when she stood up. If she could find it, she could stab him and . . . a warm wet tongue licked along the tendon of her exposed neck.

  Livie whimpered. She shifted her arm around, grasping desperately for her knife. If he bit her neck, he would sever her artery. She’d bleed out right away. Her heart pounded and she knew he could hear it, knew he could hear her terror.

  She hated him.

  “Mate,” he breathed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth move, but she couldn’t make out the words, she couldn’t hear over the thundering of her own pulse.

  Her fingers touched the edge of something hard and smooth. The knife handle. She gripped it, tightened her stomach and flipped out of his hands. She pulled the knife up, swiping it across his chest.

  She landed on her shoulder, rolling quickly. Pushing with her legs, she swiveled around, drawing her knees up until her feet faced her assailant and her
vulnerable neck was out of his immediate reach.

  She held the knife tightly between both hands ready to thrust. She panted, her heart raced, her body shook.

  The werewolf crouched in front of her. His long hair curled over his shoulders, hiding most of his face. From between the dark, silky strands his eyes glowed, chocolate brown with swirls of amber so deep and dark red it reminded her of a pool of blood caught in moonlight. His mouth parted as he drew in her scent and she eyed the sharp edges of his elongated fangs between his firm lips.

  A thin trail of blood slashed across a gap in his denim shirt, oozing in tiny rivulets down his chest. Even as she watched the blood stopped and the welt sealed shut.

  Livie pressed up on her elbows, eased cautiously back a few inches. He lunged forward. She froze, but he didn’t attack her. He crouched over her, knees planted on either side of her legs, arms thrust out next to her shoulders, caging her with his body, but not quite touching her, not hurting her. Not yet.

  She drew in a sharp breath at a scratching sound. A quick sideways glance confirmed that deadly claws tipped his fingers. She tried to contain another whimper, but part of it still escaped. He tensed above her and his husky growl turned softer and lower, almost as if he was trying to . . . to comfort me?

  She stiffened her arms, scooted her butt up a hesitant inch and moved her right elbow back. His soft growl deepened, no longer soothing, now threatening. He lowered his head, halting mere inches from her face, the warmth of his breath brushed over her face. She froze. She didn’t dare to breathe. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to see his fangs before they bit her.

  What was he waiting for? She couldn’t take this tension anymore. If he was going to eat her why didn’t he just get on with it? Why torture her? Did he like to play with his food? What?

  She’d seen what werewolves could do in New Orleans and again just a few weeks ago. Their lethal claws shredding tender skin. Their fangs biting and ripping flesh. Blood and screams and horror.

  She knew it all.

  By slow increments his head moved closer and closer to hers. The soft strands of his hair tickled her cheek and she flinched, her mind desperately trying to prepare for the pain, for the brutal pierce of his fangs.

  A low continuous rasping rumble issued forth from his chest as he moved closer and closer. He bent his elbows, settling his body almost on top of hers until his hot heat blanketed her from her knees all the way up to her shoulders. His hair fell across her shoulders, tangling with her own, caressing her skin in soft unexpected touches.

  She’d steeled herself for his attack, but he didn’t attack. She didn’t know and couldn’t prepare anymore for what he planned to do.

  In Livie’s experience, men who wanted to hurt her did so right away. They didn’t wait, they struck out immediately. And repeatedly.

  This stranger – powerful werewolf – wasn’t hurting her and didn’t seem to want to hurt her. She didn’t know a lot about the werewolves, but she did know what they sounded like in a fight, when they were hurting or even worse, killing someone. None of his low growls and rumbles sounded like that. Except when she tried to move away, she knew a warning when she heard one, whether it came from a human or a werewolf.

  He still made no move to hurt her or bite her.

  The tip of his nose bumped hers. She tensed. He nudged her again then slowly, very slowly, rubbed along the curve of her cheek. His hair swept over her face again and again in long velvety strokes. He nuzzled his cheek over hers, the rough prickles along his jaw scraped her cheek. She knew her skin would be red there, but again he didn’t seem to want to hurt her.

  It was almost as if he was learning her, familiarizing himself with her scent and her texture.

  Livie relaxed slightly at the thought. Maybe he didn’t want to eat her. Maybe this was a werewolf thing, a customary way of meeting a new person. If so, she would stay as far away from the rest of the clan until she left. She’d have a heart attack if she had to go through this again.

  The warm brush of his tongue licked at her wounds, cleaning them with slow, gentle swipes, drawing her blood into his mouth. He groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.

  Just don’t eat me.

  His tongue came out again and lapped at the skin below her ear, his fangs grazed her earlobe. She gasped. Her stomach jumped. He did it again. Her heart stuttered then sped up, faster than before. She knew he heard it when he rumbled in . . . approval?

  What did he want? Why was he doing this to her?

  She couldn’t ask. She could barely hear her own thoughts above her pounding heart, let alone get her mouth to function.

  Suddenly he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, her breasts flattened against his hard chest. Her nipples peaked and she flushed. What the hell was wrong with her? He pressed his large hand to her back and pushed her nipples firmly into his chest. He shifted her from side to side, dragging the sensitive tips across him. Livie gasped again and this time her womb tingled and throbbed, an embarrassing rush of moisture pooled between her legs.

  No. This couldn’t be happening to her. She couldn’t possibly feel this desire, this ache, not now, not while she was still terrified. Not for a werewolf.

  His body tightened around her and he inhaled deeply just before he groaned and nudged a knee between hers. Oh shit. He could smell her arousal.

  That realization snapped her out of her stupor. She didn’t care anymore that he could break her with no thought what-so-ever. She didn’t care that she didn’t stand a chance against his enormous strength. She wouldn’t have sex with him. She would not have sex with an animal.

  She twisted in his grasp, using her elbows and drawing up her knees to kick any part of him she could reach. A section of her brain warned that she was reacting in panic, not fighting effectively, but she didn’t care. She simply had to get away from him.

  He moved with each of her strikes, his movements faster than hers, meeting her blows and blocking them, but still not hurting her. He didn’t try to strike back, he simply blocked and avoided, every move he made designed not to hurt her.

  Livie bucked and arched, her movements becoming more and more frantic as her injured body weakened. She didn’t have the strength to continue this much longer. She panted, drawing in a deep lungful of air, but it didn’t help. Her next punch flailed wildly, her arms like overcooked noodles. She couldn’t kick him, so she put the rest of her dwindling strength into one last desperate arch of her body, trying to throw him off. She might as well have been a tiny gnat tugging at a wolf’s coat for all the damage she didn’t do.

  Completely exhausted, she collapsed. Her entire body trembled, the still healing wound at her side burned in agony. She lay helpless in his arms, hating him, hating her traitorous body, hating what she knew he would do to her. She refused to look at him, refused to see the triumph that must be in his swirling gaze.

  The panic eased from her mind as if even her brain was simply too tired to hold onto a single emotion. She heard him then, the gruff croons he made over and over again. Not words, just a continuous soothing hum, vibrating against her.

  As she calmed, he slowly tightened his arms around her as if afraid a sudden movement would frighten her. She opened her eyes, watching him through the veil of her lashes, but otherwise didn’t react. She couldn’t summon the strength to protest. His muscles tensed a second before he stood up, cradling her gently in his arms, her weight obviously not a factor to him.

  She hated him for that too, for his easy power, his immense strength. He wasn’t winded. She couldn’t see any signs that their struggle had affected him in anyway, while she lay helpless and powerless in his arms. Unable to lift a single finger to protest anything he might do to her.

  Tears welled and tracked down her cheeks in a silent path. Another sign of her vulnerability. Her weakness. Another reason to hate him.

  “Livie?” Sela’s shriek swept over them. “What’s wrong? Did you fa
ll?”

  Livie jerked her head up, relief poured through her. He couldn’t hurt her now. Her sister and Mac stood in the doorway.

  Sela shouted, “You did fall. Your poor face! What are you doing out of bed?” Her last question ended on a piercing wail. Both Mac and the werewolf holding her, flinched in reaction to Sela’s high note.

  Sela dashed forward. The strong arms holding her tightened. He pulled and shifted her higher, away from her sister. Now what? He couldn’t possibly plan to harm her now. Not with her sister and Mac in the room, could he? Livie bit her lip, sinking her teeth in until the point of pain. She would not beg. She would not wail like a girl.

  Sela stopped to look at him, look at her, her gaze swinging back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. “Liv?” She asked.

  Mac rumbled low, like a query. The chest pressed against her moved in response, his chin rubbed over the top of her head. Were they talking to each other? In rumbles and vibrations? How much more proof did she need that they were so far from human, so closely tied to their beasts?

  Livie could barely contain her shudder. She needed to get away from him soon. Before he hurt her. Before she became unglued.

  “What’s going on?” Sela asked.

  Mac stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He smiled in deep satisfaction at Livie and the werewolf holding her. Mac was happy about this? This werewolf called her blood sweet, he licked it off her face – did Mac want him to eat her?

  “She’s my mate.”

  It took several seconds before Livie actually understood the words uttered above her head. She heard them. She knew that he was actually speaking English, using words she could understand, but still it took a bit before they penetrated.

  No. Nonononononono.

  Not possible.

  She could not possibly be his mate. She didn’t want to be his mate. She wouldn’t, she would not mate, have sex, with an animal.

  She shoved him. She pushed as hard as she could, arching her back at the same time and accomplished exactly . . . nothing.