by H. D. Gordon
“I wasn’t aware we were on a schedule,” I replied, my tone even. “I thought Dogs had the evenings to themselves.”
He was silent for a moment, but I could feel the anger radiating off him in invisible waves. “I thought you were enjoying our time together,” he said, his voice carefully contained.
Now I looked back at him over my shoulder, his handsome face as alluring as a devil. “I hate you. I’ve already told you that. Several times.”
His blue eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms over his chest, making the golden muscles in his forearms contract. “And I told you, we both know that’s a lie.”
Sighing, I climbed to my feet and retreated from the ledge, coming to stand before the Hound. I stopped just before him, close enough to feel the heat of his ire. Tilting my head back, I met his icy blue gaze. “What do you want from me, Hound? Enough of the games.”
Ryker took a step closer, nearly closing the gap between us—but not quite. My heartbeat picked up in pace at the proximity, and he was tall and wide enough that I now stood wholly in his shadow. But I stood my ground, waiting for an answer.
His head cocked in a very Wolfish manner, his demeanor becoming instantly predatory without movement. Rather, it was the stillness with which he held his muscled and imposing form that was chilling.
And, yet, despite that chill, a touch of traitorous heat spiraled somewhere low in my belly. It seemed my night with Oren had not quelled whatever this ridiculous attraction to the Hound was.
“I think you know what I want, little Wolf,” the Hound told me. He leaned forward, his mouth coming so close to mine that I held my breath. “And I think you want to give it to me,” he added in a whisper.
He moved away then, his presence leaving me so abruptly that I only stood where I was for a moment and stared at the slowly brightening horizon. A handful of heartbeats later, Dogs began hauling themselves over the cliff side, bleary eyed in the morning but ever ready for another day in hell.
I wasn’t sure how, but he knew. I knew he knew because of the way he treated Oren during training that day. Perhaps our mingled scents still lingered, and the Hound had picked up my scent on Oren or vice versa… but, yes, he definitely knew.
He taunted, tested, and tortured Oren to no end, made him do extra of everything; more laps, more pushups, more leaps, climbs, crawls and hurdles. He insulted him, shoved him around… and pissed me off enough that by the time practice finally came to an end, I was absolutely seething.
Ryker had no gods damned right to treat Oren that way. And I had no doubt in my mind that he’d done it because of me. As though I was his. As though he owned me.
Oren, to his credit, did not hold it against me, though I knew he understood why Ryker was behaving this way. I apologized to him while we bathed in The Cascades that evening and then practically tore through the woods to get to the little cave and give the Hound a good piece of my mind.
Ryker was waiting by the small entrance to the cave when I got there and stormed up to him, fuse lit like a bomb about to explode.
Then, because he seemed to enjoy doing so, he surprised me. Actually, shocked is probably a closer word.
“I’m sorry,” Ryker said, and bowed his head in what could not be interpreted as anything but submission to a Wolf. “I overreacted this morning. I had no right.” He lifted his golden-brown head and met my eyes with a plea in his blue ones. “Forgive me?” he asked.
My mouth fell open, but I struggled to get any kind of words out. I snapped it shut and opened it again, but words still failed me.
He bent and lifted a basket that I hadn’t noticed upon approach, a sheepish but hopeful grin coming to his attractive face. “I brought you pork roast and wine… Will you share it with me?”
My head told me to turn on my heels and leave, but my body pushed passed the Hound and entered the cave. “It’s your world, buddy,” I told him. “I just live in it.”
A moment later, he followed me inside.
He spread out our blanket, took a seat, and began arranging the food and drink. I stood looking at him a moment before taking a reluctant seat beside him. We ate in awkward, loaded silence for all of five minutes.
“You treated Oren really shitty today,” I said. “He didn’t deserve that.”
Ryker plucked a grape from the bunch and popped it in his mouth, crushing it between his straight white teeth. “He’s lucky I didn’t just kill him,” he said so casually that I had to turn my head and look at him.
My lips twisted in disgust. “The life of a Dog means so little to you, huh?”
“It’s not that.”
“Really? Then what is it?”
“I could smell you on him,” he said, and his handsome jaw clenched.
A blush bloomed instantly on my cheeks. “What?” I said.
That anger that both terrified and thrilled me filled his sapphire eyes. “When I walked by him this morning at line up… I could smell your scent clinging to him and I became… a little jealous.”
My brows arched up. “A little jealous? That’s what you call ‘a little jealous’?”
“Wolves are territorial creatures, sweetheart,” he said.
I nodded. “That’s true. But I’m not your territory. Or your sweetheart… And you should know, I’ve killed stronger Wolves for saying less.”
The Hound only grinned, leaning back lazily against the cave wall. “Right back at ya… sweetheart.”
I huffed. He just had a way of making me want to behave like a damn puppy. “You’re infuriating,” I said through clenched teeth.
Ryker raised his glass of wine. “It would seem we share the quality. With time, I think you might learn to love me.”
“That is absolutely impossible.
“Nothing is impossible, little Wolf.”
The ugliest of instincts in me reared their heads, and I narrowed my eyes, weighing my next words and then speaking them anyway.
“You’re a coward, Ryker the Hound,” I told him. “You’re a slave driver and an oppressor of your own kind. You make a living and a life off the backs of others, and then pretend that what you do has any honor. You’re a follower who is weak, and nothing more than a pawn pushed around by the Pack Master, who is not a Wolf worthy of your allegiance… These are the reasons I could never like you, let alone love you. This is my truth to you. Feel free to share yours whenever you’re ready.”
For the first time since we’d begun this strange dance of ours, the burning fury that I’d often seen flare in him and directed at others was directed at me. Gone was his easy swagger and cool indifference, his playful yet challenging way of addressing me. Here was the Head Hound there were so many horrifying stories told about. Here was the alpha lesser Wolves cowered before.
“You speak about things you have no idea about,” he said, his tone so flat that I had to tell myself not to shift in discomfort. “If you think Dogs are the only slaves in this world, you’re as ignorant as you are self-righteous.”
My temper hit the roof. “I don’t beat, kill, and hunt down other Wolves because some prick with connections tells me to,” I snapped.
“But you still kill other Wolves to survive. In fact, you’ve likely killed more of ‘our own kind’ than I have, sweetheart. How many is it? Fifteen? Twenty? You do what you have to in order to survive, and so do I. How the hell do you think that makes you any better than me?”
My fists were clenched tight enough to ache, my blood rushing in my ears. “How dare you compare the life of a Hound to that of a Dog? Without Hounds, there would be no Wolves to keep all the Dogs in slavery. Without Hounds, the Pack Masters would be nothing more than shithead Alphas who go around comparing their withered penises and beating the shit out of each other!”
“You sure have a simple-ass way of looking at things,” Ryker said, shaking his head in exasperation. “Too bad you’re not as bright as you are beautiful.”
I launched myself at him.
My body slammed into his in a tackle th
at sent us both rolling in a tangle across the cave floor. I was determined to choke the life out of him, my hands clawing for his golden neck, my teeth bared in savage anger.
Ryker caught me at the wrists, same as he had the last time, managing to do so a second before I was able to claw his eyeballs out. He was so much stronger and bigger that it was not long before he had me pinned beneath him, using his massive weight to hold me in place, near-crushing me to the cold cave floor.
Which provided a direct contrast to the heat that radiated off of him from where he hovered above me.
He still had my wrists in his grip, and he brought them over my head and pinned them there with one hand so that he could use the other to keep some of his weight off me.
“All that fire,” he mumbled, his blue eyes darting down to my lips. “If I let you go, are you going to try to kill me again?”
“Probably,” I said, my eyes narrowed in ire.
This made him laugh, the reverberation traveling up through the tight muscles in his flat belly, which was still pressed closely against my own. As if sensing where my mind was, he shifted his hips a little, and something began to grow there, making my breath come short. Like the two traitors that they were, my legs spread open an inch or so of their own accord, allowing Ryker to settle himself more fully there.
His eyes lit up Wolf-Gold as his handsome face stared down at me. “Don’t see Oren again,” he commanded, his voice low and guttural and firm.
My arms were still pinned above me, his hold still at my wrists, my breasts peaked and nipples hardening against the fabric of my shirt. His gaze drifted down to them, and his devilish tongue flicked out over his wicked mouth.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said, but the words came out weaker, softer… throatier than I’d intended.
When Ryker lowered that wicked mouth to my neck and ran the tip of his tongue over the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing over the most vulnerable part of me, I was helpless to do anything but hold utterly still beneath him.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, mumbling against my neck, his tongue darting out and tasting me again. “Tell me to stop… and I will.”
I opened my mouth to say it, but the pressure around my wrists disappeared as one of his rough hands came down to grip my breast, his thumb rubbing slow circles around the middle. At the same time, his mouth had traveled higher up my throat, where he planted small, tongue-swirling kisses that seemed to blaze a trail of fire over my skin. His other hand went to my waist, where his strong fingers dug gently but insistently into the soft flesh of my hip, pulling me toward him at the center.
The word that he’d promised would cause his retreat got stuck somewhere in my throat, failing to make it out fully past my lips. My lips parted slightly to loose a small sigh as the hands of the Hound traveled expertly over me, as his skilled tongue explored my flesh.
My body arched upward into his, my hands finding their way into his short, thick, golden-brown hair, holding him to me, begging silently for him to continue.
Because he was a bastard, he lifted his head a little, pulling away from me. “Which is it, little Wolf?” he asked. “Do you want me to stop?” He leaned in, nipped gently at my neck. Pulled back again. “Say it. Say you want me to stop and I will.”
Even as the words were spoken, his hips were thrusting forward, forcing my legs to spread apart further still, nudging at my center with the impressive tip of him. My legs wrapped around his trim waist and squeezed, my body opening up, the movement as good as an invitation.
Ryker separated himself from me and sat up on his knees before stripping his shirt off over his head. Then he unbuttoned and kicked away his pants in a smooth motion. After, his strong hands gripped my thighs and parted them so that he could reclaim his spot between them. Naked as the day he was born, he sat crouched on his knees before me, every muscle and inch of golden skin on full display.
My eyes took it all in; there was no use in even attempting resistance. I yanked my shirt off over my head in the same swift fashion as he had, my breasts laid bare before him.
His eyes blazed like tiny golden suns, a growl rumbling somewhere deep within his carved chest. When he dipped his head and took the tip of my right breast into his mouth, scoring it gently with his teeth, I reached down between us and took him into my hand. A feral growl rumbled in his chest and vibrated against my nipple, which he held captive with his teeth and tongue.
He was smooth and strong and impressive, and I slid my palm along his length while my other hand gripped the back of his neck, keeping that wicked mouth held close to my flesh. Then I was flipping him, needing to take the dominant position, to maintain some control in this absurdly reckless situation.
Ryker laid down on his back without protest, cupping his hands behind his head while he watched me stand and kick away the skirt I was wearing. The last bit of clothing I was wearing.
Spread out like carved golden marble on the blankets covering the cave floor, the Hound watched me with predatory stillness.
Waiting.
I could still leave. I could still stop this.
Then Ryker removed one of the hands tucked behind his head and gripped himself at the hilt, his azure eyes locked on me. “Come here, little Wolf,” the Hound told me.
And gods help me, I did.
I came to stand over him, a leg on either side, and then dropped down to my knees so that I could straddle his trim waist. I placed a hand on his muscular chest and held him down—a position of absolute dominance while I held his gaze. Then I shoved the hand he was using to hold himself away, taking him into my own palm again and giving him a less than gentle squeeze.
He arched up a bit, his eyes glowing gold as they held mine, another deep growl echoing up his throat. I kept one hand braced on his chest and the other between us, letting the tip of him rub against the now-moist part of me, making him hover at the entrance before granting admission.
Ryker’s hands were at my hips, gripping tight enough to leave bruises, as if he were only just able to resist the urge to yank me down onto him. I knew it was the dominant, demanding look in my eyes that was stopping him.
He was letting me have control, though it was not easy for him.
So I eased down on him a little further, his impressive width forcing in deeper, making me toss my head back and sigh at the cave ceiling as delicious fire scorched me from the inside out. Beneath me, the Hound was practically trembling with forced reservation. So I eased back up again, freeing the tip of him, making his fingers dig even deeper into the womanly curves of my hips.
I leaned down and ran my tongue in a slow circle on the side of his neck. Still gripping him between us, I held him steady and guided him fully inside me in a single smooth motion while my teeth sank less than gently into his neck.
He let out a low snarl of pleasure as I moved my hips against him, never once yielding the dominant position. My own eyes remained hazel as his glowed golden, staring up at me, drinking me in as I exhausted myself atop him.
He came three times before I was through. Only after I’d rolled off him and lay staring at the cave ceiling, my heart galloping within my chest and a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin, did I acknowledge just how fucking stupid this whole thing was.
26
The Midsummer Solstice was upon us, the single day of the year where Dogs were not forced to work the fields or clean the latrines or train for The Ring. It was the only holiday still observed by our kind, the midway point between the beginning and end of the year.
In Dogshead, most of the Dogs (and everyone else, too) would head to the chapel in the early hours to pray to the Gods for a myriad of things. In the evening, these same Dogs would head to the nearest tavern or whorehouse to drink and fuck the night away.
I wasn’t a woman of the gods, and I didn’t pretend to be, so I usually skipped the morning festivities and took part in the evening’s… but I was not in Dogshead anymore, and Marisol had its own way of doing things.
I raised a brow at her, ever marveling at her obliviously blunt way of addressing people. I looked down at the brown woven shirt and skirt I wore, normal Dog attire. “I don’t own any other clothes,” I said.
She grinned. “Who said anything about clothes?”
Oren and another male named Ares had joined us, and if the former sensed any shift in me after what had happened with Ryker, he didn’t comment. I did notice that he was careful to keep more of a distance, however, and I couldn’t decide if that annoyed me or not.
Kalene and I walked side by side up a tilted street with the males trailing behind us. “So… I didn’t see you around last night,” she said, eyeing me with that dark gaze, red lips pursed in question. “What have you been up to as of late, my friend?”
I shrugged. “Sleeping, eating, being a slave. You know, the usual.”
“You should be careful,” she told me, her voice lowering. “Dogs have been disappearing from Marisol lately, vanishing without a trace.”
We rounded the corner of the street and then crossed to the other side. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Kalene asked. “Surely you’ve heard others whispering about it? Dogs are disappearing and no one knows where they’re going. Puppies mostly… but there have been a few older ones, too.”
Overhearing our conversation, Oren and Ares pulled up alongside us. Oren offered me his elbow, and I was relieved to lace my arm through his, glad that Ryker hadn’t scared him enough into avoiding me altogether.
“That’s right,” Oren said, and pointed to the northern skyline. “Some claim there is a creature in the Northern Mountain, and that its been awakened and is stealing pups in the night to devour them in its cave.”
“That’s fucking morbid, Oren,” Kalene snapped.
Ares chimed in. He was a quiet male with light brown skin and even lighter brown eyes. “And who says that they’re being taken?” Ares said. “They could just be leaving.”
