Werewolves Only: Crescent City Wolf Pack Book One

by Carrie Pulkinen

  “I’ll see you later, sister.” Alexis kissed her on the cheek and shoved Macey toward him.

  “This ring has been burning a hole in my pocket all day,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It belonged to my great-grandmother. She left it to me when she died, with a note that she hoped my true love would make me as happy as my great-granddad made her. I wanted to give it to you this morning, but…” He held up the ring and examined it. The diamond glinted in the light, and he let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m going to try this again.” He knelt on one knee and took her hand in his. The familiar electric tingle shot up her arm, making her breath catch.

  “Macey, no one can make me happier than you can. If I spend every day with you for the rest of my life, it still won’t be enough. I need more from you than a mate. I need you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes!” Her hand trembled as he slid the ring on her finger and pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Luke.”

  “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear those words from you. I love you too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “If you two lovebirds are done making up, we’ve got a ceremony to finish, a riot to stop, and a panel of hungry congressmen to feed.” Luke’s dad held out his hand for Macey to shake. “By the way, I’m Marcus. It’s nice to finally meet the woman my son’s been so worked up about.”

  Macey shook his hand, and the tingle of werewolf magic shimmied up her arm. The sensation was different than when she touched Luke, though. Duller. She might have missed it if she didn’t know what to look for. It appeared only Luke’s energy could make her heart skip a beat, and that’s the way she liked it.

  She slipped into the ballroom, and Luke held her tight to his side. From the noise and commotion, what he’d said to the pack must have meant mutiny because every person in the room looked either livid or terrified. Some grumbled. Others yelled, their fists clenched tightly at their sides. All because of her.

  She gripped his bicep, her throat tightening. He did this for her. Even when she’d rejected him, he hadn’t given up on their love.

  A group of seven men standing on a raised platform turned toward them. “This is unacceptable,” one of them boomed.

  “It’s taken care of.” Luke pressed his hand into the small of her back and led her onto the stage. A hushed murmur befell the crowd as he stepped to the microphone and raised a hand to silence them. “There’s been a change of plans.” He pulled her into his side and wrapped his arm around her. “I’d like to introduce my fiancée, Macey.”

  Silence ensued as the pack seemed to hold a collective breath. Then Chase stood, and the remaining pack members joined him in a standing ovation.

  “We’ll take that oath now, Dad,” Luke said.

  Marcus read from an antique, leather-bound book, and Macey repeated the words required of her. She made promises to uphold the pack values and follow their laws. The entire oath sounded more like a business deal than a union, until she got to the part where they had to promise to have children together. Luke smiled and squeezed her hand as she agreed to everything.

  As Marcus read the final words, making the union official, Luke leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I promise the wedding will be much more romantic.”

  The rest of the evening went by in a blur. She joined Luke’s mother at the table as he and his father went through the ceremony of changing leadership. Luke accepted the role of alpha, and the pack cheered. The weariness in Marcus’s eyes lifted, and a smile played on his lips as he and his wife stepped off the platform and joined the pack.

  The sun dipped behind the horizon as they finished dinner, and the pack members slowly filed out the door. Luke stayed by her side, his arm around her possessively as they said their goodbyes. She leaned into his warmth, allowing him to lead her, to take care of her. For the first time in years, she opened herself to need, admitting—at least to herself—that it was possible to depend on someone and still be independent at the same time. She needed him in so many ways, and the smoldering look in his eyes told her he felt the same.

  As the last guest left the ballroom, he wrapped his arms around her and caught her mouth with his. “Your place or mine?”

  “I think my house is closer.” She couldn’t wait to get him home.

  “Let’s go.”

  Macey’s hands were steady as she slid the key into the lock and opened the door. Luke couldn’t keep his hands off her. As soon as they stepped through the threshold, he pulled her close, cupping her butt in his hands. His cock swelled, pressing against his zipper, and it took every ounce of self-control he could muster to stop himself from taking her right there in the living room. He’d come so close to losing her, but now she was his. A vise of possessiveness gripped his heart, and he held her tighter.

  “I love you, Luke.” Her breath tickled his ear.

  “I love you too. And I can’t wait to call you Mrs. Mason.”

  She stepped away, a playful smile dancing across her lips. “Macey Mason? What have I gotten myself into?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran his fingers along her skin, sliding her dress straps over her shoulders. “But I know what I’d like to get myself into.”

  She bit her bottom lip and laced her fingers through his. “Well then, Mr. Mason, you should come with me.” She led him to her bedroom, and Thor jumped off the bed to wind between his ankles. He let out a soft mew and rubbed his head against Luke’s shin.

  Macey picked up the cat and set him outside the door. “Thor says, ‘Welcome home.’”

  “I like the sound of that.” He chuckled. “I’m going to be the only alpha in history with a pet cat.”

  “He’s a good cat.”

  “He is.”

  Tugging on her bottom lip, she furrowed her brow. “Did you know I was coming? Is that why you said that to the pack? You caused quite an uproar.”

  He traced his fingers along her shoulders, marveling in the softness of her skin. “I’ve never been one to let an archaic law hold me back. I told them to give me a year.” He shrugged. “I figured I could win you back by then.”

  “What if they didn’t agree to your demands?”

  “Then they would have had to find a new alpha. Good thing you showed up when you did.”

  Snuggling into his chest, she slid her arms around his waist. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

  “I knew you’d come around.” He glided his hand up the back of her dress and pulled the zipper down. The emerald fabric cascaded to the floor, revealing her porcelain skin wrapped in lacey pink lingerie. Soft moonlight filtering through the curtains gave her an ethereal glow. He watched as she undid the buttons on his shirt, memorizing every detail of the way she moved. The way her hair spilled over her shoulders. The fire in her eyes as she popped the button on his pants and tugged the zipper down.

  She grinned wickedly as she unhooked her bra and slipped her panties off. All he could do was stare at the image of perfection before him. His hungry gazed traveled up and down her body, his cock aching to fill her, his heart pounding with the need to possess her.

  Her fingers danced across his chest, trailing down to his stomach. “Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”

  He grinned, scooping her in his arms. “I’m going to love you for as long as you’ll let me.” He laid her on the bed and climbed on top of her, pressing himself between her legs. Her breath caught as he filled her, and she gazed at him with eyes full of love. “And I believe you promised me forever.”

  “I did.” She smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tight. “Werewolves mate for life.”

  Thank you for reading Werewolves Only. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review.

  * * *

  Then, turn the page to read the first chapter of Beneath a Blue Moon, Book 2 of the Crescent City Wolf Pack Series.

  Beneath a Blue Moon

  Chapter One

 
Chase Beauchamp rolled his Harley to a stop outside the morgue on Earhart. He let the engine idle, the low rumble filling the humid night air with its sultry song. The stale stench of death seemed to ooze from the pores in the brick building, undulating into the parking lot like a suffocating fog.

  He killed the engine and stared at the heavy, metal door, a chill creeping up his spine as the memory of his last trip to the morgue played in his mind. He still had nightmares about the twenty minutes he’d spent in the cold locker, hiding from the same cop he was about to meet now. Exhaling a curse, he dismounted his bike.

  Go in. Check out the body. Get the hell out. That’s all he had to do. At least he wasn’t trying to steal the damn thing this time.

  He heaved open the door and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the stark white reception room. Though what kind of reception one could give to anyone who came to identify a body, he had no clue. The sharp tinge of bleach in the air did nothing to mask the sour, musty aroma of dead flesh. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral as he scanned the empty room, but the smell was more offensive than a Saturday night on Bourbon Street. Something about preserved dead people gave him the creeps.

  And where the hell was Macey?

  The door swung open, and a man with clean-cut, light-brown hair ambled in. If his shoulder holster didn’t give him away, his cocky gait screamed cop. Chase had seen this guy before. Macey’s partner, Bryce.

  “You Chase Beauchamp?” He raked his gaze over Chase’s tattooed arms before lingering a little too long on the piercing in his right eyebrow.

  Chase nodded and returned his stare.

  “Detective Bryce Samuels.” He held out his hand. “I’m Detective Carpenter’s partner.”

  Chase shook his hand, and not a hint of magic seeped from his skin. This guy was all human. “Where’s Macey?”

  “She’s checking up on a lead. Asked me to show you the body. Apparently, you might be able to pick up on something she didn’t.” He made air quotes with his fingers and looked toward the front desk. “Where’s the mummy?”

  A scrawny kid with shaggy red hair typed something into his computer and shot to his feet. “Locker twenty-six. Did you prepare him?” He cut his gaze toward Chase and grimaced.

  Bryce slapped Chase on the shoulder and walked toward a swinging door. “She’s a mummy. Prepared?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” He followed Bryce down a narrow hallway illuminated in sickly-green fluorescent lights. The putrid color did nothing for the ambience. Then again, a storage house for the freshly dead didn’t need to be warm and cheerful.

  They turned a corner, and Bryce lowered his voice. “Macey tells me you have a similar ability to her spirit sensors.”

  “Something like that. I’d say mine’s a little more pronounced.” How much did this guy know about his partner? Macey was the alpha’s mate and the only werewolf on the New Orleans police force. Being second born, she lacked the ability to shift, but nearly all werewolf offspring possessed some sort of power.

  Bryce stopped outside a door. “So you can see ghosts? Or spirit energy? I think that’s what she calls it.”

  “Sort of.” Not at all. Macey suspected the victim died of supernatural causes, but she didn’t know enough about the paranormal world to make the call. She’d had no idea she was a werewolf herself until a few months ago. Whether or not the pack got involved in this case would be up to Chase. Then it would be Macey’s job to make sure the police never discovered the truth.

  Bryce pushed open the door and strode toward a locker. Chase followed, trying his best to not think about how it had felt to be inside one. Suffocating. Cold. Morbid. Another chill spiraled from his tail bone up to the base of his skull.

  Sliding the drawer open, Bryce pulled back the sheet to reveal the corpse. Dry, brown skin stretched tight across the boney figure, as if someone had wrapped a science class skeleton in leather and slapped a bleached-blonde wig on it. Thin lips stretched back into a torturous howl, and the sunken cheeks looked like they’d crumble to bits if he touched them.

  But the most haunting aspect of all was the gaping, hollow eye socket.

  Though his skin crawled like a swarm of spiders skittered across the surface, Chase leaned in closer to the shriveled corpse. “Any idea what happened to her eye?”

  Bryce pinched his brows as if looking at the body caused him pain. “No clue. Can’t you ask her ghost?”

  “Right. Let me see if I can pick up anything.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to mimic the way Macey acted when she read energy.

  Big mistake.

  The rancid death stench made his stomach turn. How could humans not be bothered by this smell? He swallowed the sour taste of bile from his throat and raked his gaze over the body. “Looks like something sucked the life right out of her.”

  “No kidding. Autopsy says her blood has turned to powder. Pretty much all her insides have.”

  “Hmm. A vampire wouldn’t have left any blood behind at all, so it’s safe to rule that out.”

  Bryce blinked.

  Crap, he shouldn’t have said that. Chase shoved his hands in his pockets and forced a smile. “I’m kidding.”

  He chuckled. “You never know in this town. A few months ago, we had so many people trying to convince us werewolves were involved in a case that Macey started to believe it was true.”

  Chase shook his head, laughing off the statement. “Women.”

  “Right. So, no lingering spirits then?”

  “None that I can see.” Not that he could have detected one if it were there. Like most first-born weres, Chase’s only powers were massive strength and the ability to shift into wolf form. “Does she have any other markings? Punctures or cuts?”

  “She has a tattoo beneath her collar bone. It’s hard to tell, the way the skin shriveled up, but it looks Celtic.” Bryce pulled the sheet down to reveal a warped, black design on the woman’s chest.

  He could see how a human would mistake the twisting, knot-like pattern for Celtic, especially in this distorted condition, but the tattoo had nothing to do with the Irish. This woman belonged to a witch’s coven, though which one, he couldn’t be sure.

  The sour taste returned to the back of his mouth. Damn witches. They were a bunch of selfish pricks who didn’t give a shit about the rest of the supernatural community. This woman had probably pissed someone off high up in the coven, and they’d discarded her like trash, leaving the mess for the werewolves to clean up. It looked like the pack would be getting involved after all.

  Bryce covered the body with the sheet and shoved the drawer shut. “Recognize the design?”

  “No. You’re right. It’s probably a Celtic knot. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  Bryce narrowed his eyes, studying him. “Don’t you need to touch something? Or meditate?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Macey always puts her hands on the walls and closes her eyes and starts swaying like she’s hypnotized.”

  Damn, this guy was perceptive. If Macey had given Chase a head’s up, he might have been prepared to put on a show. As it stood now, he just wanted to get the hell out of that stinking cesspool of death. “My ability doesn’t work that way.”

  Bryce lifted a shoulder and nodded toward the door. “Whatever you say, boss. I won’t even pretend to understand what y’all can do. Frankly, it’s a little weird.”

  If he only knew the half of it. “I can see how it would seem that way.” He followed the officer to the reception area, the tightness in his chest loosening now that a solid wall stood between him and the bodies.

  Bryce stopped at the desk and signed his name on a clipboard before turning to Chase. “We rely on Macey’s ability a lot.”

  Chase nodded. “Reading spirit energy is a handy talent.”

  “She said you’d fill in for her while she’s on her honeymoon in a few months. Help us out if we need it.” He raised his eyebrows, silently asking for confirmation.

  “Did she?”
Strange the alpha himself hadn’t told him about this new assignment. Chase would need some lessons on pretending to be psychic if he was going to keep this charade up.

  Bryce popped a piece of gum into his mouth and clenched it between his teeth. “That okay?”

  “You get any more weird cases, give me a call. I like weird.”

  Bryce nodded curtly. “Will do.”

  Chase shook his hand and shoved open the door. Thick, sultry air enveloped him as he treaded through the parking lot to his bike, breathing deeper now that he’d gotten away from the damn morgue and its foul stench. Thunder clapped in the distance, and his arm hairs stood on end as the storm clouds gathered above.

  He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. Luke would expect a full report, but he didn’t have time to swing by the bar. Bekah had a class tonight, and the one thing Chase liked better than hunting demons was babysitting for his sister.

  A text would have to do. Victim’s a witch. Insides turned to powder. Never seen anything like it. Babysitting tonight. He mashed the send button with his thumb, shoved the phone in his pocket and then headed home.

  He’d be happy if he never stepped foot inside that morgue again, but something told him he’d be spending a lot more time there, thanks to the alpha’s mate.

  Rain Connolly sat at a table in the darkened bakery and stared out the window. Using the side of her hand, she wiped the condensation from the pane and leaned toward the glass. Fat water droplets danced across Royal Street, pooling near the sidewalk and cascading down the storm drain, washing the sludge from the road. She’d always loved a good thunderstorm, and not just because of her name.

  The cleansing act of water from above rinsing away the impurities on the ground soothed her. If only her own sins were so easily washed away.

  The sudden showers had sent tourists and locals alike scattering for cover. Now the rain and the streetlights had the stage to themselves, and they created a choreographed routine Rain could’ve watched for hours. The boom of thunder interrupted the musical cadence of the shower, but the droplets found their rhythm again, falling individually before becoming one with the steady stream running down the street.