by Mina Carter
The witch sneered, looking Nat up and down, dismissing the plump girl as non-threating. "For those in the classroom who are slow, we’ll have Magic 101. All curses degrade over time, even a curse powerful enough to hold two alpha wolves. Someone from the original bloodline needs to be around to keep it strong. To power it with their presence." She flicked a glance behind Nat and her features twisted with hatred. "Because of these two, I've wasted my life in this piss-ant village. I could have had everything, the world. Instead, I had to stay here to hold the curse."
"Why?" Nat tilted her head to the side questioningly. "I mean, you're an intelligent woman, and it's not your curse. I'm assuming your grandmother is dead if you're stuck here...and this was her work. Why would you care if the magic withered away? What's the worst that could happen?"
The woman focused on Nat, and for a moment she saw indecision in her gaze. A fleeting chink in her armor. "They'll be loose and the curse rebounds."
Nat frowned, brows raised in unspoken question.
The witch huffed. "Rebound, like doubles back on the one currently holding the curse. And I've no wish to spend eternity in stone," the woman snapped, hatred back in her eyes. "You're a Larkin, aren't you? Just as stupid as the rest of your line. Any sense your ancestors had disappeared when we bred the lycan blood out of you."
Nat's rage coalesced and harden. "You've been interfering with the village bloodlines? We all thought that was natural because we had no local alphas. How long have you been doing this?"
"Stupid, stupid, stupid. All of you," the witch chanted and cackled. Her beautiful mask slipped to reveal the aged crone beneath and Nat gasped. Okay, so not as young as she'd first thought. But the woman couldn't be if she was the granddaughter of the original witch. There were too many years between then and now for a normal lifespan. "Not interfering, improving. You think we want the stink of lycans or other paranormal sub-species near our coven. Granted, none of you will ever carry magic in your blood, but better human than...than those heathen animals."
"Animals, huh?" Power surged within Nat, from the depths of her soul where instinct and wildness lived, battering at her control. This lady stood between not just her and her men, but the whole village and their birthright. This woman and her family destroyed their pack, reduced their abilities to mere human. Not that Nat had a problem with humanity; she considered herself human most of her life. But they should have had the choice...and that she couldn't let go.
"One chance," Nat said quietly. "Walk away, get as far from the village as you can."
The witch lifted her eyebrow. "Or?"
The snarl started low in Nat's chest as she opened herself to the new presence buried within her. "Or I'll rip your heart out and shove it down your fucking throat."
The witch burst into laughter, hand on her stomach, bending over. "Yeah, right. A Larkin? Last time any of you shifted was generations ago. How are you going to manage that?"
"Watch and find out." Fur brushed the inside of Nat's skin, the creature within ready to burst free. With a smile, Nat accepted the wolf, accepted the animal side of herself and let go.
As naturally as breathing, she felt the change take her, wash over and through her. The fur exploded through her skin and flowed over her body. Her human form disappeared as her bones popped, snapping and reforming before she could register it. There was no pain, just an itch, then an all over body sneeze and within a heartbeat she advanced on the woman, teeth bared in a snarl.
"Shit...how did you do that?" she gasped, staggering backward with utter shock on her face. "No, you cannot do that. This is a dream—"
She fell over as Nat stalked her, landing on her ass. Her feet scrambled in the dirt, one of her heels lost in her desperation to get away, but Nat was too quick. Gathering power in her muscles, she pounced, landing on the witch, massive paws on the woman's shoulders and her teeth bare inches from her throat.
A loud crack sounded. Magic swirled, making Nat sneeze and when she looked down, the witch under her paws wasn't a living, breathing person anymore. Gray stone replaced the warm skin, and the hatred and fear on her face was perfectly preserved.
"Well, she obviously didn't expect that," Darrick said behind her, and her heart skipped a beat to hear his familiar voice. Whipping around she saw her two men sauntering toward her, smiles on their handsome faces.
"To be fair," Verne added, coming to a stop in front of her and studying her new lycan form with interest, and she hoped, approval. "Neither did I. How did you do it, little one? She was quite correct, none in your line has changed in generations."
Dropping her head, Nat called the change again. It felt like a reverse sneeze as she sucked the wolf in, rather than out. Reverted to her human form, albeit totally naked, she stood slowly. "Well, she got one thing right. My mother is a Larkin," she grinned. "But I have no clue who my father is. Want to bet he wasn't human either?"
Body heat surrounded her as they stepped closer to bracket her. Verne’s hand swept up her back as Darrick’s closed around her waist, tugging her closer. She lifted her chin as he claimed her lips in a long, deep kiss that left her breathless. It tasted of pure man, sex, and forever.
“Oh, wow,” she managed when he broke the kiss. “I guess you guys are glad to see me, huh?”
“You have no idea. You came back to us…fought for us…proved yourself a true alpha female.” Verne cupped her face, his dark eyes shining with respect. Then his face hardened, and the scent of the wild filled the air. “You came back…”
“Yeah.” She moved closer, reaching up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “I did. So how about we get on with the part where I get to keep you guys forever?”
Their chuckles filled the night air and Verne scooped her into his arms. “My lady’s wish is our command.”
Epilogue
“Ohhh…please…I can’t…Do it now!”
Sandwiched between her men, Nat cried out in frustration and pleasure. Their bodies brushed, the slap of skin on skin filling the air and the scent of pleasure and wildness surrounded them. This time, their mating was in an actual bed rather than the cold ground, the ruins of the manor rebuilt the instant the alphas were released from their enchantment. But it didn’t matter, she’d have followed her lovers…her mates, anywhere.
Tight heat made a battleground of her body as she was filled over and over, pussy and ass stretched by thick, rigid cocks, but the physical pleasure wasn’t what drove her. Another need, driven by the creature inside, took precedence. She arched her back, pressed against Verne and tilted her neck to the side in mute appeal.
“Nearly there, love,” he rasped and his lips grazed her shoulder. Inside, she stilled, waiting for the sharp bite of his teeth, claiming her. Finally. She needed them to bite her, to add that final mark of possession and mating to her body at the height of their pleasure.
Her pussy clenched, tightening around Darrick and he moved, pulling her down over him. The tension within her escalated, until her vision started to gray at the edges. It was too much…
“Hold still, love.” Verne’s voice was thick, almost primal.
She tried to nod, couldn’t, but it didn’t matter. In the next heartbeat they struck. Fangs sank into her shoulders, one set each side. As if that was what her body had been waiting for, she came; an explosion of heat starting in her core and spiraling outward at light speed. A wave of pleasure greater than anything she’d ever felt rushed over her, swallowed her whole and took her into an abyss of pure bliss as the two cocks buried within her pulsed their own releases.
She barely felt the fangs remove from her shoulders, the gentle swipe of tongues to heal the wounds as she floated in pleasure. Gentle, loving touches brought her back to earth, and she opened her eyes to find herself between two hard male bodies. Nestled. Protected. Loved.
“Back with us, love?” Darrick smiled, the lines of pain and loneliness eased from his handsome face.
She nodded and reached up to stroke his jaw. He had stubble,
heavier than usual. More evidence they had been released from the curse. A quick glance at Verne confirmed he was the same and she sighed in contentment.
Her men were free, finally, and all hers.
Forever.
The End
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Mistress of the City
1
“But, Mom, do I have to go to the ball?”
Archer Davis stopped mid-stride as his little brother’s voice filtered through the half-open bedroom door and into the corridor. Seth was sixteen and a total teenager. That he was conversing in full sentences was new, but the petulant tone wasn’t. On an average day, Seth could make even a grunt sound like a whine. Now though, he just sounded scared—very scared—which sent all of Archer’s protective instincts into overdrive. Without another thought, he barged through the door.
“What ball?”
His mom and brother jumped, turning to look at him. He bit back a shiver at the twin set of amber eyes. Werewolf eyes. It still freaked him the hell out to see them. His mom had married a wolf, his stepdad, when he was seven years old, and Seth had been born a Were. Call him speciesist, but he still preferred to see his mom’s eyes their original—human—brown.
Ignoring it, he focused on his mom. Of the two, she was more likely to tell him what was going on. “Ball?” he prompted.
“The Midwinter Choosing,” Seth answered, his whole manner flustered and he yanked at the suit he wore. It was a little too big for him, evidently borrowed from his father. Although they were the same height, thanks to Seth’s recent growth spurt, he had yet to fill out in the shoulders so the jacket hung loose on him.
“Wait…what? The annual fuckfest for the mistress?” Although the rest of his family was Were, Archer wasn’t a wolf, but living in the pack house since he’d been discharged from the army had left him with a good idea of furry politics.
“Archer!” his mother snapped, reaching out to smooth Seth’s jacket straight. “It’s not a…a—”
“Fuckfest,” Seth grunted, grinning despite the fear that had leeched his skin. Like most immature teenagers, dirty words still made him snigger.
“No, no! It’s an honor for an offering to be chosen,” she insisted, fussing over Seth again. “And as a pack, we have to send an offering or we’ll be in default. Seth’s the only unmated male we have. And he’s an adult.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet as she tried to avoid mentioning sex, but the elephant crowded into the room anyway. The Midwinter Choosing was all about sex, and everyone knew it. It was when the mistress, the most powerful werewolf in the city and “overlord” of all the packs, chose a bedmate for the night. A young, handsome lycan to fuck while the moon was high.
Archer snorted to himself, and the poor fuckers were grateful for the chance at her. He’d never met the mistress, but since werewolves gained power as they aged, she was no doubt some dried up old harridan who needed protocol to entice a guy into her bed.
His mood soured as he looked at Seth, all tarted up like he was about to head to senior prom. It would be so easy to slip into that delusion, but it would be a lie, and Archer detested lies. His little brother was about to be served up like the sacrificial lamb, and as the reality set in, he looked as scared as fuck about it.
“Have you forgotten Seth is only sixteen?” Archer asked, his voice deceptively calm. Folding his arms over his chest, he ignored the fact that his shirt pulled at the shoulders. He needed to go shopping, all his tops were too tight since he’d been stateside and hitting the weights hard. “He’s not an adult.”
Their mother pursed her lips.
“Maybe not for a human, but for a wolf, he’s been an adult for months. Ever since he mastered his part shift.” At that, she beamed with pride. Part-shifting was something Archer knew the furries prized. It meant Seth would be an alpha like his father.
“Really.” Archer’s voice was flat and rang with the disapproval he didn’t attempt to hide. “Well, you have fun tonight,” he said and turned to leave the room.
What was it to him if the kid’s parents threw him to the wolves? Or, in this case, wolf. One wolf. The Mistress of the City.
Reena Leroy. The most powerful werewolf in the city, she ruled from her “court” over on Eastside. From stories Archer overheard, whispered when they thought he, the human, wasn’t listening, she was a cast iron bitch who’d killed her own father to attain her position.
He stomped down the corridor to his own room and slammed the door behind him. Why did he care that Seth—still a child—would be shown off like a piece of meat in front of a woman no doubt old enough to be his grandmother? Archer had never been to court, so he had no idea what the woman looked like, but even he knew wolves gained power as they aged.
How old would a female wolf more powerful than the rest have to be? Seth might have mastered his part-shift, but he was no match for a woman like that. She’d chew him up and spit him out. The whole idea of men…hell anyone…paraded about for one person to pick from for sexual services turned his stomach. It was disgusting, archaic and he wanted nothing to do with such a society. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury.
Archer stood in front of his open wardrobe, anger and worry vying for dominance in his gut. For the first time in his life, he wished he’d taken up his mother’s offer to turn him. He’d always refused because his military career depended on him remaining human. Wolves, while not banned from the services, were not exactly treated like equals…
His gaze fell on his good suit and a slow smile crawled over his lips.
But he wasn’t in the army anymore.
He didn’t need to be human anymore.
And today was a good day to put an uppity female wolf in her place.
Two hours later, Archer slid his car to a stop outside the court building. Cutting the engine, he levered himself out of the low vehicle and handed his keys to the valet. The guy, a wolf by the amber eyes, flicked a glance at him.
“Pack?” he demanded, his expression a little suspicious.
Archer gave him a scowl to look at. “Griffin. What of it?”
The smaller man’s eyes widened, just a touch, before he bowed his head. “Well met, Alpha. Through the double doors and turn right, the Master of Ceremonies is waiting to welcome you.”
Archer nodded, striding toward the building in front of him. That had been easier than he’d thought. In fact, he’d expected to fall at the first hurdle. Expected alarms to blare as soon as he set foot in court, warning all the little wolfies that they had—shock, horror—a human in their midst. Well, perhaps human wasn’t accurate. But the valet had barely looked at him after Archer growled. Being an asshole got him mistaken for an alpha wolf. Go figure.
Surreptitiously he rubbed the tiny flesh colored bandage between his thumb and forefinger. He’d covered all his bases. He told his mom and the driver of the arranged limo that he’d make sure Seth got to court on time and despite his lycan heritage, Seth had been easy to sneak up on. When you lived with wolves, it was easy to figure out how to trick one into a part shift, then knock him out. He’d used Seth’s claw, puncturing the skin just enough to infect himself with the lycanthrope virus.
After that, it was a walk in the park. Seth was bundled up nice and neat in his own closet back home, the locked door no barrier when he woke, and Archer had driven himself here without incident. He didn’t have to worry about his mom and her husband turning up. His stepfather was ailing, ill health meaning only his brother’s presence was expected at the choosing.
Archer rolled his shoulders, settling his jacket more comfortably as he walked through the double doors. Court was not at all what he’d expected. The word conjured images of historical buildings and stately elegance, but the building was modern chrome
and glass. He looked around and turned right. Good thing they weren’t all vampires or they’d be crispy critters come morning.
More doors opened in front of him and a thin man looked up from his clipboard. “Pack?”
Archer bit back his anger. Did no one ask people’s names around here, or were they all known by their pack monikers? What if there was more than one from each pack…did they assign each a number?
“Griffin. Here as the offering.”
The man just nodded and made a note. “Very well, follow me.”
She was bored out of her fucking mind.
Reena Leroy, Mistress of the City, and the most powerful wolf in the room, sighed and drained her champagne glass in one shot. Motioning toward a waiter, she disposed of it and collected another. It wouldn’t make a difference how much she drank, she couldn’t get drunk, more was the pity. Getting plastered might make the evening bearable.
Just.
She still had to pick a man to fuck. Tradition going back centuries. She wished she could just cancel the damn thing, change the law, but the council of alpha’s had pitched a hissy fit when she’d so much as mentioned it.
Ugh, she needed more champagne. Waaaaay more champagne. The waiter was still hovering, his expression bland as she exchanged her glass yet again and looked across the room from her place on the raised dais. It was filled with men. All kinds of men. Short, tall, skinny, and muscled. They were mostly young. The law required each pack to send a virile, young offering. Most had sent more than one, to increase their chances of getting a wolf into her bed, and hopefully get her pregnant. They did that, and convention dictated that maybe, just maybe, they got to be her consort.
