by Elsa Jade
Not eager to hear the rest, Rose cut him off. “Alf, I didn’t mean to upset you. Between the wedding and my grandmother being sick, I’m all nerves. I’m sorry.”
Rose had to choke down bile to get the words out. She hated having to ingratiate herself to him, but as always, she had no choice. He was bigger and could easily overpower her. She couldn’t fight him, not physically.
After a moment, during which Alf continued to exhale his sticky breath on the side of her face, he loosened his grip. She slowly turned around, her throat tightening as she saw the wanton look in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Rosy,” he cajoled, now rubbing her neck with his meaty hand. “I understand. We’ll get to your grandmother’s in the morning, I promise. Tonight, let’s spend some time together, get to know one another better.”
His mood swings were giving her whiplash. She considered pointing out that they’d known each other since childhood, and reminding him of how he used to bully her even then, but she couldn’t afford to rile his temper again.
“I’d like that,” she said, giving him a shaky smile. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to wash up first. There’s a river nearby. I could be back before you know it.”
It was a risky move, but it worked.
“Alright, go on and wash up for me then. I’ll get the fire started.”
Her smile widening, Rose moved to walk past him. As she did so, Alf grabbed her basket. She hadn’t expected the move and wasn’t quick enough to stop him.
“You won’t be needing this,” he said casually. “Now go on, hurry back.”
Rose trudged away, her hands balled into small fists. In taking the basket, Alf had thwarted yet another chance for her to escape. Only this time, the stakes were higher. She couldn’t run without her money, but if she went back to him, she’d be at his mercy.
To put it plainly, she was screwed.
“This is all your fault, Rose,” she seethed, as she made her way through the forest. “You should have just married the butcher boy. Sure, he might have smelled like pigs, but he was kind.”
The butcher boy had been the last of a long line of suitors her father had proposed for her before his untimely death. Unlike her brother, Rose’s father loved her and valued her choice. But like her brother, her father hadn’t thought very highly of her. Every boy or man he’d chosen to court her had fallen somewhere on the sliding scale of undesirable.
There was Widower Jack, a man the same age as her father whose body had been ravaged by gout. Rose might have tolerated being married to him, had he not already lived in a crowded home with four of his grown children and their families. After him, there was Douglas Hagarty, a man whom the entire town knew preferred the company of men to women. Then, there had been Tom Tom, a nearsighted boy five years her junior who was as skinny as a beanpole and painfully shy. She had at least tried with Tom Tom, reasoning that once he got a little older, he may turn into a fine young man. The month before their wedding, Tom Tom decided to join the priesthood. Rose had never lived it down, and to this day, people still whispered that he had become a priest just to escape their marriage.
While she had no doubt that her father loved her, Rose often wondered why he’d thought men like these were the best she deserved. Was it too much to ask that she have a normal suitor? A capable man who wasn’t a drunk, smelled nice, and was maybe, just a little pleasing in appearance?
Unbidden, her thoughts strayed back to the man she had seen earlier that day. High up on the cliffs, he had towered over her, looking not unlike a god. With his golden skin, and powerfully muscled body, he possessed the sort of male perfection she had only seen in paintings.
And much like the men in great works of art, a man like him was far beyond her reach. Perhaps tonight, while Alf did as he pleased with her body, she would close her eyes and imagine her wild, untamed forest god.
Despite the chill in the air, Rose’s skin was hot as she arrived at the river. She walked over to the rocky bank and crouched down, cupping her hands and scooping up a small pool of water. She sipped some of the cool liquid and then splashed the rest on her face.
She would not wash up, she decided. Perhaps she could even find some river algae to rub on herself so that Alf would find her smell repugnant.
Who was she kidding? Alf would be on top of her even if she smelled like the butcher boy.
“So shallow,” Rose mused, gliding her fingers across the surface of the river. She had never been one to admit to defeat, but in this moment, she was glad it was a river and not an ocean. If it were an ocean, she might just climb in and swim until she could no longer see the shore. Until Alf was far, far away, and there was nothing left to consume her but the sea.
A soft rustle of grass drew her attention. Rose lifted her head to look across the river. A massive, black wolf sat across the way, his luminous amber eyes focused squarely on her neck.
Rose didn’t gasp or scream. She met his gaze, an odd numbness spreading over her body as she stared into the face of Death.
Chapter Three
‡
Ronan’s eyes followed a bead of liquid as it trickled down her smooth face, the slender curve of her neck, and then between the swell of her breasts. A familiar tightness reclaimed his muscles and his claws dug into the soft earth beneath his paws.
He’d expected her to be frightened. Even grown males twice her size startled at the sight of him. But she just froze. This was not an entirely uncommon response in his prey. They would often freeze at the sight of him. It was in that split second that he could see them shedding their wisdom and intellect, surrendering to age-old instincts—instincts that told them to flee. In the next second, they would run, but it was already too late. A wolf needed no time to allow instincts to take over. He was always prepared to do what he did best: to kill.
Or in this case, to mate.
But in this instance, he paused along with her. There was one thing he hadn’t considered while he had stalked her. How was he going to claim his female? He had never been with a human before. Among his own kind, it was common that they coupled in wolf form. He’d been with only one female in his human form, but it had been more for their mutual amusement than actual pleasure.
As much as he wanted to leap across the river and mount her as he was, Ronan suspected that this female would not be receptive to this. Earlier, when she had seen him in his human form, she had become aroused. Now, he only smelled fear.
He found the idea of claiming her in his human form to be largely distasteful, but decided that at least for the first time, it would be a necessary inconvenience. Besides, all that mattered was that he buried himself inside of her—by any means necessary.
While his mind worked to come to this conclusion, the human’s mind had been working as well. His predator’s instincts had told him she would flee, and he found himself genuinely surprised when she did not. Instead, she shrugged off her red cloak and then ever so slowly began to work at the buttons of her gown. His amber eyes followed each movement, until she had disrobed down to a sheer, white undergarment.
Despite her alluring actions, Ronan’s urge to mate was finally overcome by something more powerful: intrigue. Did she recognize that he was her mate? Did she feel the pull as strongly as he did? Was she going to let him take her in his wolf form?
The final thought caused a fresh wave of lust to ripple over his body.
Ronan waited patiently as she began to walk towards him, stepping into the river. He thought to stop her. After all, her fragile human body should not be exposed to such cold temperatures. Then, he decided that it didn’t matter. He would warm her soon enough.
Her bare feet made no sound as she stepped onto his side of the river. She approached him slowly, her arms wrapped around her torso. Stopping a few feet away from him, she crouched down onto one knee and lowered her head.
“Please…” Her voice was a soft whisper. “Make it quick.”
Ronan’s intrigue gave way to confusion. Quick?
He had never before heard such a request from a female and he could make no such promises. Once he began to mate with her, he would have limited control over how long it would last. Certainly his first release would be quick, but there was no way he could possibly stop after that. No, they would be mating well into the next morning.
She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck. Ronan began to salivate at the thought of sinking his teeth into it and branding her with his mark. He stepped forward two paces, intending on doing just that, but something made him stop.
As he’d moved forward, she had begun to tremble. He realized that even as she had stripped down, her scent had never changed. She wasn’t the least bit aroused by him. She was afraid. Perhaps even terrified.
In spite of the desire that threatened to overwhelm him, Ronan knew that he couldn’t take her like this. He needed her to want him back, to reciprocate, even just a little.
He took a final step forward, until he was standing over her. Beneath his large body, she appeared smaller than ever. Inclining his head, he pressed the cool tip of his nose to the smooth column of her neck.
They both shuddered.
Then, he licked her.
Ronan’s throat constricted. Her neck tasted faintly of her sweat, a strange combination of sweet and salty. He liked it, and he wanted to taste more of her—every part of her.
Her throat vibrated with a soft whimper. Still fear. He was going to have to do something about that.
Reluctantly, he took a step back and shifted. The shift was more uncomfortable than painful. Long before Ronan had claimed his sprawling territory, he’d had the good sense to avoid hunting in the territories of other packs. He’d grown strong from years of preying on roasting pigs and errant sheep. The easiest way to get close to these domesticated beasts had been to hide in plain sight, taking the form of a human boy. While the animals could always see him for what he was, the unsuspecting humans rarely gave him a second glance.
Those days were long past. As he had grown into a formidable wolf, his human form had aged with him. He was tall, taller than any human male he’d yet to encounter. Where there had once been little more than skin and bone, were powerful muscles. Even his manhood had grown quite considerably, and he noticed with no small amount of disdain that the shift had done nothing to quell his arousal.
He looked at the thick member with its swollen head and engorged veins, and then looked to Rose. Surely she would be more comfortable being taken in his wolf form than being penetrated by this bulky, awkward organ. He would ask her later, once he had her back in his den. For now, he would have to allay her fears.
She had not looked up at him since he had shifted, and so Ronan took the initiative and kneeled before her. Even in his crouch position, he still loomed over her and she had to arch her neck back to take him in. Her jaw slackened at the sight of him and her eyes went wide with alarm. He allowed her a few seconds to stare at him and was pleased when the fear in her scent steadily abated. He still did not smell the arousal she’d harbored for him earlier in the day, much to his disappointment.
Ronan waited for her to speak, but when her mouth closed, he gave into his own impulse.
“Why didn’t you run?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own, raspy baritone.
“I was going to,” she said in a small voice. “And then I realized that there was nowhere for me to run to. Better to die a quick death tonight, than to die a little inside every day of the rest of my life.”
His throat constricted again, but not with arousal. It was as though some foreign emotion had lodged itself in his voice canal. No wonder she had been so frightened. She had thought he’d meant to kill her.
He traced her jaw with a calloused thumb. Her skin was every bit as soft as he’d imagined and his touch glided from her jawline and down her neck. He stroked up and down, until he caught the faint, but unmistakable scent of her desire. He could clearly imagine what was happening between her thighs. Her delicate inner-folds throbbing, growing damp in preparation for him. His mouth ran dry.
“There is nothing I want more than to taste every part of you,” he purred. “But I have no intention of killing you. Not on this night, not ever.”
Her gaze clouded with confusion, but he was not in the mood to explain himself with words. Ronan lowered his head to her neck and licked her again, this time in a long, upwards stroke. Then, he ran his tongue around the shell of her ear, a small growl of satisfaction rising from his chest. Her fear spiked again, but he refused to let it linger. He took the soft pad of her ear into his mouth and began to suck, lightly teasing the sensitive flesh with his canines. As he did this, his hand resumed stroking her neck, this time with the tips of his claws.
His voice husky, he asked, “Do you fear my fangs? My claws?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
With his free hand, he massaged a gentle path up the side of her waist. In a nearly imperceptible gesture, she arched into him as his large hand went to cup her breast. Beneath the flimsy slip of cloth, he could feel the small bud of her nipple. It was nearly as hard as his cock. He drew his thumb around it, his claw shredding the fabric, but leaving her pink flesh unscathed.
“Why?” he pressed.
The muscle in her throat flexed as she swallowed. “You could tear me apart.”
Ronan would have chuckled, were he not so unbearably aroused.
“The only living thing I will ever tear apart is the prey I’ll feed you with, or the predator that seeks to harm you.” He drew his canines across her neck, applying just enough pressure to make her moan. “When I sink my fangs into you, you will enjoy it.”
He had only meant the last part as a reassurance, but the moment the words left his lips, the urge to mark her became too strong. Even more than he needed to mate with her, he needed to stake his claim on her body. His canines began to ache, and before he could think better of it, he bit down on the side of her neck.
Rose let out a high-pitched moan, her hands flying up to grip at his hair. Rather than becoming limp and supplicant, she twisted and squirmed beneath him. He thought for a second that she might be in pain, but realized that she wasn’t trying to push him away—she was pulling him closer. Pleased, he bit down harder, until the metallic tang of her blood filled his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as euphoria claimed his body. She was not completely his, not yet, but any male who came near her would see his claim, would smell his scent mingling with hers. Wherever she went, he would be able to find her.
Abruptly, Ronan was jarred from his peace. In her restless movements, Rose’s pelvis had managed to graze the tip of his erect manhood. The simple touch sent a wildfire through his body and within seconds, a mating frenzy threatened to overtake him. He drew back and stared down at her flushed body, his teeth grinding as he struggled to regain control of himself.
Both instinct and logic told him that he could not take her here, out in the open. Once he was inside of her, his focus would be solely on mating, filling her with his seed over and over again, until his body had nothing left to give her. He would be weak and vulnerable for at least a day.
He needed to get her back to his den.
While he was drawing this conclusion, Rose was coming back to her senses. Her hand flew to her neck, finding the puncture marks and the thin rivulets of blood. Color drained from her face, and to Ronan’s annoyance, she smelled of fear once again.
“What did you… What do want from me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Ronan frowned. He would have thought that much was obvious by now.
“You are my mate,” he said flatly.
Her eyes swept over his body, as though she were seeing him for the first time. When they fell on his erection, she began to scramble backwards. Now, Ronan was more annoyed with himself. He knew she wouldn’t want him to put a human penis inside of her.
“I’m not your mate,” she said, fire licking her tone. “I’m not anybody’s mate.”
Ronan stood, his eyes narr
owing. “You’re mine.”
She gave him a glare to match. “What gives you the right to just declare that I’m yours? Don’t I have some say in it?”
The questions perplexed him. Neither of them had any say in it. Her scent had told him that she was his. It was undeniable.
To a wolf, he realized.
Ronan could tell by the way her body had responded that Rose recognized his claim on a physical level. However, her human preconceptions would make it harder for her to interpret what her body already knew. She would need time to understand what he was to her and what she meant to him.
Unfortunately, time was the one thing Ronan did not want to give her. He watched as she stood and backed away, cautiously stepping into the river. He made no move to stop her as she gathered her clothes on the far shore. If he wanted to catch her, he could easily do so. There was no amount of space she could put between them that would keep him from her.
With that thought, his inner turmoil eased. She wasn’t ready yet, and in truth, neither was he. He had been lax in the upkeep of his den and it was hardly suitable for a she-wolf, let alone a human female. He would also need to ensure that it was stocked with fresh food and water, that way he would not have to leave the den for a few days once he brought his mate back.
The knowledge that he wasn’t prepared to provide for Rose quelled Ronan’s lust like nothing yet. As she scampered off into the woods, he felt no urge to give chase. He would let her run for now. She could only deny their bond for so long. Very soon, she would be craving him as much as he craved her, and when that time came he would come for her, and he would be ready.
*
Rose stumbled over a rotting stump, barely catching a grip on a tree branch before she fell. Realizing that she was almost back to the road, she took a moment to catch her breath and ensure that her clothes were as orderly as possible.
