Wolf Trap

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  The devil take him, he wondered seriously if there was a serum for mastering speechlessness.

  Matt was holding her tightly enough to smother them both.

  Or would have smothered them, if they’d both been normal people.

  He had wrapped one of his hands in her hair. His free arm encircled her waist, so that she had to speak shallowly, in a whisper.

  “It’s all right? Will…be…all right, Matt?”

  The deep rumble inside his muscular chest caused all the little hairs on her arms to stand to attention, and the spot between her thighs to quiver in anticipation. Moist anticipation.

  A sudden flare of fire flickered deep inside.

  The drama, intensity, danger and swirling emotions were heading them in a new direction. Uncharted territory. Not because of what Matt had told her, but because of what she hadn’t told him.

  Secrets.

  She could feel this new thing growing between them, expanding, drawing them closer at last, snapping them tight. Beyond the sorrow and pain she felt for Matt and his plight, her body was reacting to his nearness with a lustful revving of her sexuality.

  She hurt for him, yes. Wanted to cry for him, comfort him, yes. He would mourn the life he had always known. He would lament, swear, vow, want to hurt himself at times, because his beliefs would never be the same. If a man could become a werewolf, what else might be out there hidden from the masses? What other freaks might prowl the nighttime hours that a detective specializing in psychiatric anomalies might stumble upon?

  Did people live in a world that wasn’t at all what it seemed?

  This was what Matt would be thinking.

  And in thinking that, he would be right.

  “I have to find him.” Matt spoke those words vehemently. “I have to know if the same creep who bit me bit that poor girl, or if there are packs of criminals intent on infecting innocent people. A horrifying thought. I have to…”

  Jenna tilted back her head so that she could see his face, let her fingers drift across his tortured mouth. His eyes were green again, though still haunted. He was all sharp angles.

  She could see all this clearly. In the dark.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “You must do that. Find him. Stop him.”

  “What about you?” Matt said, seeming to read her without knowing why or how he could do so, or how she could be radiating the anticipation that continued to shake her from head to foot. “You aren’t afraid, Jen?”

  “I’m terrified.”

  “You smell like sex, Jenna. Not fear.”

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” she said. “Your body might change, but it’s you inside, for the most part? You carried me in here. You cared. Whatever gripped you didn’t fully take over.”

  She pressed on, needing to make a point that he might not fully understand unless she could spit it all out. “You have a job to do to save others. It’s important. I support that. I want to help.”

  Matt’s head shook side to side. “Not you. You need to stay safe. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  His mouth was on her cheek, her neck, his action urgent, insistent. His fingers tugged at her hair, entwining ever deeper, the pressure holding her quite motionless. Breathless.

  Yes, she would smell like sex. She wanted him, could barely contain herself. This was familiar ground, this sexually heightened moment. This was what usually happened between them, minus the new twist, the new hunger that lay waiting, camouflaged within the old. Not only within Matt, but also within herself.

  Soon, gone would be the need for control. And the need for caution.

  Soon, she’d be unable to hurt him.

  Soon—and as much as she mourned and regretted the reasons why—she would, at last, be able to show herself to him.

  Finally, they would have a full connection.

  And dammit, should she feel guilty that God had, in this terrible way, answered her prayers?

  She wasn’t running. She wasn’t screaming. Truly, Jenna didn’t seem the least bit afraid. Not only did the woman in his arms smell like heaven, suddenly she smelled like dessert.

  For which he was so very ravenous.

  Have to possess her. Here. Now.

  Yes, he wanted to.

  And couldn’t.

  He didn’t know his own strength yet. He didn’t know what having sex with her might do, cause, with moonlight just outside the door.

  Damn, though. Really want to.

  He wanted to be inside her more than he ever remembered wanting anything. Wanted it more than he wanted to find the perv with the lethal teeth who had kicked all this off. Wanted it more than he wanted to breathe.

  Jenna’s body was calling to him, bending into him, her skin as heated as his own, her lips parted. She gave off an electrical charge he could feel through her clothes. One that went straight to his libido and outward from there.

  Must go.

  Must leave her.

  No. Can’t leave her…here.

  It crossed his mind to search for the door, invent a way to safely get her to her car without the moon doing its damage. Without her having to see what he would become. The Landau family were good at control, but they’d had years of practice, decades to prepare.

  And Jenna…

  Jenna’s breathing was loud, ragged. Her lips opened farther.

  An invitation.

  For him.

  It would have taken, he concluded, covering those glorious lips with his own and taking full possession of her feverishly hot, slick lips, something far stronger than a damn werewolf to have resisted Jenna James’s lure.

  Yes.

  That’s it, Jenna thought.

  As their kiss deepened, the darkness around them crackled with sparks, as though live wires had come loose from the ceiling.

  More, Matt.

  Don’t hold back.

  Her clothes felt tight, restricting. It wasn’t only Matt’s body leaning into hers, nearly crushing hers to the wall, that had her clawing at herself, but her own skirt, shirt and the torn lab coat she’d donned to cover those missing buttons.

  The sound of fabric tearing brought yet a new layer to the mounting tension. Cooler air met her hot skin. Her shirt had been ripped to shreds. Matt had torn the remnants of the coat and blouse from her quivering shoulders, growling as a man would growl in the heat of passion. And maybe more.

  On to the zipper. The skirt slipped down over her thighs quickly, with a soft sigh. Nothing left to separate them now, save for the little lace barriers covering her straining breasts and pelvis.

  After a day of hunting criminals, a day where everything was black and white, Matt had always loved the bright-colored lingerie that contrasted with her tanned, honey-toned skin.

  In honor of seeing him again, she’d worn red.

  Fire red.

  Matt murmured his appreciation when he saw it, slipped his hand under the elastic band lying across her hipbones, his fingers angling downward—toward the source of her ache.

  Jenna closed her eyes. She moved her legs to allow him room, muttered unrepeatable things as his fingers parted her own triangular pelt of auburn fur, gliding languorously over her feminine folds. As his breath, ragged, shuddering, whispered in her ear what he would do to her next.

  Instantaneously, both bra and panties were nothing more than colorful wisps on the dark wood floor. Matt’s smooth, naked skin slid over hers, each muscle rippling with need. His thighs were hard. What stood erect between his thighs was even harder.

  Jenna’s arms fluttered, hands still fisted. She sank a little, into his exploring right hand. He caught her by the shoulder with his left, held her to the wall. Matt had always been able to raise the ache within her to monstrous proportions and then appease it. Tonight would be a new test.

  He brushed his lips over hers, but couldn’t sustain the gentleness or keep himself back. It had been such a long while.

  As she moved her hips against him, he dug in quickly, devouring he
r mouth with a force and a passion that unleashed a groan from her throat. On hearing her sound, he pressed his hard length against her, easily finding what she willed him to find.

  He drove himself into her with a single thrust, absorbing her reaction with his mouth covering hers. Jenna closed around him, felt him shudder as she held him for one more trembling second, and then she opened the way. This is what she wanted, what she had missed. There was no life without this, without him.

  Unable to stop shaking, she silently pleaded for more. As he thrust into her again, she closed her eyes, shoved her hips against his and whispered his name.

  “Matt.”

  That one vocalization seemed to be, for Matt, the final straw. The rhythm, slap and tempo of their slick bodies meeting became fast, frenzied and almost angry. He was hurting, she knew. He was taking this out on her, sharing his hurt with her and apologizing to her, all at the same time. The result was glorious, terrible, shocking. Still, she found herself wanting him to throw her on the floor, break some furniture, tear the plaster loose from the walls, break her in two if he had to…as long as this lasted forever. As long as he would never leave her alone again.

  Matt. Her werewolf lover.

  And after this, she’d be able to confide her own dark secret.

  He had her legs in his hot hands now, urging her to wrap them around his waist. It took only a few seconds more for him to reach the spot, hitting it dead-on. Spasms rocked her, forcing her spine to arch. Her entire body went rigid, suspended, as the climactic waves crashed, one after the other, each wave more powerful than the first. She felt Matt get carried away by her fever. He joined her with a shudder and a cry.

  And then, suddenly, the dark room stopped spinning. The world again grew silent. Her body seemed lost in the stillness, even as a new hunger grew.

  Matt’s hands were the first things to move. He ran his fingers over her face, her neck, her shoulders, her upper arms.

  Then he went rigid.

  He drew back so quickly, Jenna nearly slid all the way to the floor. His hand had encircled her arm with a grip that would have been hurtful, Jenna knew, for anyone other than herself.

  With a fluid side step and without thought for himself and what such a step might mean, Matt yanked her toward the door to the cottage and flung the door open wide.

  A beam of chilled silver-white light hit them. Light so bright and sudden that Jenna almost cried out. Bathed in silver, body beginning to shudder, big-time, she looked into Matt’s shocked, frozen face.

  “What is this?” he demanded, his grip on her upper arm tightening further, his other hand fingering not her aching womanhood, but the scar just above her right elbow.

  And of course, she didn’t have the time or the need to answer.

  Matt stared incredulously at Jenna, forgetting who and what he was. Where he was. As he ran his fingers over the scar on her arm, his beast slammed to the surface.

  And so—dammit to hell and against anything he could ever have imagined—did hers.

  Knuckles tingling, his hands exploded with a bursting of callused skin. Dagger-sharp claws flicked upward like individual unfolding switchblades. His arms pulsed, popped, as the bones and ligaments realigned.

  He teetered when his chest expanded, ribs cracking with a spike of pain that made him want to shout every obscenity he knew. But his face had already lengthened, his skull reshaped with a sensation of red-hot pokers being seared into his brain.

  Fur sprouted from his pores, all at once, in a singular push. His legs were the last thing to get with the program.

  Once he could think again, internalize the pain and feel it ease somewhat, he drew to his full, new height, opened his mouth, and growled.

  The growl echoed in the night. No. It wasn’t an echo at all. It was Jenna. Jenna had growled back, softly, but adamantly. Standing her ground.

  Jesus, what ground it was.

  Jenna was…not Jenna anymore. What stood in her place was taller, fuller, anxious; every muscle defined and taut and covered with auburn fur.

  Terrible. Poignant.

  Magnificent.

  And Jenna wasn’t crying, thrashing, running or mad. Her eyes, in opposition to her body, were round, gray and as soft as her voice, reflecting back the silver of the moonlight.

  The ease with which she stood there, the graceful lift of her chin, the softness of her eyes, could only mean one thing. Jenna had been a werewolf, a she-wolf, for some time.

  And the world had become unhinged. Totally.

  Until she growled again.

  Because he understood her. He almost laughed, except that beasts didn’t have the capacity.

  He howled in reply, his hunger already merging with the beast’s to form a need so deep as to be fathomless.

  “It’s okay,” Jenna’s beast sang. “I understand. You needn’t hide from me. I will explain everything, the girl, me.”

  His hunger for her spiraled upward like a live thing, intensified by his animal side. He had always wanted her, and now he wanted her more. But he wanted her man to woman, fearing what damage their beastlike forms could do, yes, although that wasn’t the entire reason. He wanted to look into her eyes and see Jenna there. He wanted her to be present, himself to be present, completely. If at least for a while.

  When he glanced up, she was gone. His heart skidded in the beast’s breast. A howl bubbled up. But a flash of movement brought him to the door of the cottage, where his feet straddled the threshold. Where he no longer cared how much another transition would hurt, or what might result.

  He didn’t have to hide from Jenna. He didn’t have to hope she would understand. Jenna knew everything, felt everything, was everything. And she could help. Together, they would find some answers. It was possible that Jenna had some of those answers now. Important answers to important questions.

  Such as: why hadn’t he and Jenna known about each other’s beasts? Had their love gotten in the way?

  Jenna must have known about the girl. She would have helped the girl if he hadn’t shown up. He knew her, knew this. The truth was that she had wanted him back badly enough to use any method to see him. Damn if he hadn’t made her bait him. He had caused this. He was responsible. Although in truth, even fighting with himself, he couldn’t have stayed away from her much longer. Every solitary minute without her had been filled with pain and sorrow. Looking now at the darkness inside of the cottage’s doorway, knowing Jenna was in there waiting for him, the grand finale question, the mother of all questions he wanted answers to filled his mind.

  How long would this cottage hold up, with two werewolves going at each other…repeatedly, and with all-out gusto?

  Boldly, greedily, he stepped inside the cottage after Jenna. Out of the moonlight. Following the scent of her desire. Feeling himself rise to the occasion.

  The other stuff could wait. Just now, he and Jenna had some unfinished business to conduct. Business that could conceivably take them well into the future, no holds barred.

  He could see it, taste it. What a team they’d make, as man and woman and as werewolves, hunting anomalies—anomalies like themselves—together, day and night, full moon or otherwise. They’d know what to look for in others newly infected and where to take them for help. Maybe they would become the help.

  They would find the creep who was loose in the city. The Biter. They would put him away for good, protect the public. Jenna would explain what had happened to her and about keeping her secret from him. He’d tell her everything about himself, things he’d never told anyone.

  They might cry about this night, and maybe laugh about it eventually, if fate wasn’t so terribly and continually cruel as to separate them ever again.

  All there—inside the doorway that Jenna had gone through. His love waited for him. His life. The whiff of his lover’s need trailed behind her like a mind-numbing cloud. Like a neon arrow leading the way toward a shared future.

  Yes, he could let the rest go—for now. For a while. Though he was
a beast, a monster and a detective, he could find a few stolen moments of bliss, and respite from the pain and turmoil his existence had become.

  Happiness for him came in the form of a sexy, psychiatric she-wolf.

  Well, okay, he said to the moon, looking up and baring his teeth. Okay.

  And thank heavens, Matt told himself as he stepped out of the light, actually smiling for the first time in a long, long while…

  We’re already naked.

  WOLF BAIT

  Chapter 1

  Night.

  Soft velvet darkness on skin.

  Frosted moonlight.

  A sensual cocktail for the senses…

  Parker Madison raised his face to the moon with a predatory gaze. He tossed back his curtain of black hair and felt the moon’s light on his face—a touch that transferred to more personal places, reminiscent of the way a woman’s fingers might stroke him to erection and keep him there, shuddering on the verge of orgasm.

  The moon was such an indiscreet mistress.

  Would he ever get used to that?

  Maintaining his balance effortlessly, Parker crouched silently atop a high stone wall, shirtless, in jeans and boots, without the added benefits of the heavily muscled, morphed limbs he’d be able to access in twenty-four hours when the moon, in her full phase, would bestow more nocturnal magic.

  He sensed the moon waiting even now—not quite full but paying close attention. Highlighting his naked shoulders. Moving him in ways only a lover should. Madame Moon’s crimes against nature were intimate enough to make his groin ache, and tempting enough to draw him away from shelter with the promise of what?

  Wildness? Inhumanness? Madness?

  Well, it was useless for him to contemplate what her lure actually might be, since it was far too late to protest it. The fact was, he was starting to enjoy the physical changes the moon brought—the enhanced sight, hearing and sense of smell, the almost psychic rushes of perception that had already begun to help him in his job at the hospital. He possessed nearly endless cardiovascular output. In his alternate form, he exhibited the brute strength of four or five men.