Taken By Two Hockey Dragons (BBW Paranormal Romance)

by T. S. Ryder

  “Can I have a moment to myself?” he growled out. Was he expecting the phone to cease its ringing? Honestly, he just wanted to jack off in peace, and yet, even before he had a chance to close his eyes a third time and create Marceline in his memory again, the phone blared once more.

  Snarling in rage, he tore through the shower curtain, ripping it clean off the pole and grabbed his phone with every intention of throwing it against the wall. He would have, had he not caught Perrine’s name scrolling across the screen.

  His heart simultaneously dropped to the floor and leaped into his throat as it exploded in his chest.

  “Perrine?” he answered.

  Chapter Four

  “Desmond!” the witch gasped. There were a swear, a low growl and a massive crash on the other end that already had Desmond hastily pulling back on his pants, forgoing even his boxers as he all but ran to his door.

  “Perrine! What’s going on?”

  “It’s Ramson! He…” another crash cut off what the witch was saying. “He’s gone crazy! I-I, I’m trying my best, but Marceline is... Mon ami, get out of here! Run, chere, run!”

  “I’ll be there soon,” Desmond said, hanging up his phone and shifting into his wolf at the same time. He had run all of three steps in his human form before he’d fallen forward and started pelting down the road on all fours. His paws barely seemed to touch the ground, his ears were pinned flat to his head and his tail streamed out behind him. It was hard to picture that just an hour before he’d ran through the same marshland, marveling at its beauty and imagining running beside Marceline. Now, all it did was slow him down as his paws sucked into the peat.

  How could he have left her? He knew! He had felt it deep inside that something would go wrong, hadn’t he? As he thundered along, his mind raged with all the thoughts of what someone like Ramson could do to someone like his Marceline.

  He hurried down the asphalt of the road to the cabaret, stones and grit cutting into the fleshy pads on his paws, but he hardly noticed. The closer he came to the cabaret, the more he felt the familiar pull to his mate until it nearly bowled him over. He leaped through the broken front window and immediately launched himself at the pair of werewolves locked in a snarling ball of rage amidst the rubble that still remained from earlier.

  Blood assaulted his nose and snarls roared deafeningly in his ears. Whines, high pitched and fearful, pulled at his heart strings. A massive red wolf he knew all too well to be Ramson had his teeth buried deep in the shoulder of the smaller silver wolf Desmond immediately recognized as his mate. To her credit, she thrashed about furiously to get him to let go.

  Marceline.

  Her blood splattered Ramson’s face. His chest. His paws.

  Red welled heatedly before Desmond’s eyes as he charged headfirst into the red wolf’s side, a murderous snarl exploding from his throat.

  Somewhere, in the far reaches of his mind where his human soul still listened, he was aware of Perrine rushing to Marceline’s side and pulling her away. But even that small part of Desmond was wrenched forcefully into the heat of battle, as the rival alpha reared on his hind legs, paw slashing angrily at his snout.

  A low, guttural snarl erupted from his throat again and yet just as he prepared a counter attack, Ramson seemed to see exactly who it was he fought. He took one quick, almost fearful look at him, and turned tail, darting away with an echoing howl.

  Something was off about the other alpha, but Desmond had bigger problems to worry about. The second Ramson was out of sight, he turned around in search of Marceline and Perrine. With his heart in his chest, Desmond shifted into his human form and picked his way over to them.

  “Marceline!” he cried out. Desmond found the proud, beautiful woman in the arms of the slender witch, Perrine, having once more turned back into a human.

  Had the situation been any different than it was, Desmond would have found Marceline’s naked form too much to bear, but the woman was incredibly battered and not in the best of shape.

  He had to grit his teeth to keep bestial growls from rising, even in his human throat, from the sight of her blood splattered form.

  “Perrine. Thank you... I must ask one more favor,” he whispered, not trusting himself to speak with any sort of volume, lest he’d explode with the pent up rage that boiled just beneath the surface. He’d kill Ramson for this. He’d gut him like a fish and leave his entrails strung up in a tree for the crows to feed on. Right then, though, Marceline needed him.

  “I can drive you home, cher,” the witch whispered before Desmond even had a chance to ask.

  He nodded and bent down, scooping Marceline up in his strong arms with a soft whine.

  “Hey, Desmond,” she whispered lightly, her dark eyes glazed over with pain. “You were right. He... He showed up acting all strange, then he smelled you and...” she trailed off, her eyes fluttering as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  A soft whine escaped past her lips and her face scrunched up in pain. The display broke Desmond’s heart and left his chest aching.

  “I’m sorry, Marceline,” he whispered as he climbed into the back of Perrine’s truck, his mate clutched desperately in his arms. “I wish I was wrong. I would give anything to have been wrong.”

  A small, sad smile crossed her face as she raised a finger and brushed it lightly against Desmond’s lips. The alpha responded with a soft, choked sounding whine. Gentle tears streamed down his face and splashed silently against her cheeks.

  “It’s not your fault, Desmond. My mama always said I shouldn’t go rogue. She always said it’d end up getting me killed or hurt. There was one thing you were good at... Protecting me,” she whispered.

  Desmond just shook his head, a few more silent tears sliding down his cheeks. His usually strong, dominating shoulders were hunched in defeat as he cradled Marceline and pressed soft kisses to her forehead while his hand patted her thick, curly hair. It would be impossible to forgive Ramson for this, but even more impossible to forgive himself. His eyes kept roaming over the poor woman’s shoulder. White bone gleamed starkly against her battered, coffee colored skin, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. Had he been even seconds later, she’d have lost her entire arm, if not her life.

  Marceline’s eyes kept rolling back into her skull, only to jerk back into focus as she fought to stay awake. Despite himself, Desmond couldn’t help but smile, though the expression did little to lighten his grieved eyes.

  “Rest, sweetheart,” he whispered to her, the truck rumbling beneath them as Perrine drove down the street. “We’ll be home soon, and we’ll get you cleaned up. I promise. I’ve got you now.”

  It didn’t take more encouraging on his part for her to give in and fall asleep, giving him time to think before they arrived back at his house.

  Blood enraged wolves from Ramson’s pack had gone and destroyed Marceline’s territory. Possibly because they were searching for her and then he shows up and attacks her, but not until after he’d already been there. Perrine had time to alert him that something was wrong and the battle had only just begun by the time he got there. Something wasn’t right. The only people who could answer any of his questions, he either wanted to murder, were unconscious and naked in his arms or were driving the truck he rode in.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Perrine pulled up in front of his house, he had accomplished little in deciding what had happened. Slowly, so as not to disturb Marceline, he got to his feet and climbed carefully down from the bed of the truck. She barely stirred more than to press her face against his neck, a soft sigh falling from her lips. Thousands of nights swam before his eyes as he recalled her doing the same thing, late into the night. He coughed lightly in an attempt to break up the emotion that threatened to clog his throat.

  “Perrine,” he said softly, looking toward the witch who still sat behind the wheel of her truck. “Thank you. I owe you two gators for this. At least.”

  “You don’t
owe me nothing, cher. Not this time. You just fix up that Marceline of yours,” she said firmly. “And take care of that Ramson.”

  “What happ—“

  She had already pulled back out onto the road and drove away, leaving Desmond to ponder her words as he walked up to his front door. He’d been in such a rush, it still stood wide open to the world, but that just made it easier for him to move inside. Briefly, he considered laying her out on the couch, not knowing how much she’d appreciate waking up in his bed, but he changed his mind after a moment, moving to his own room instead. It’d be easier to care for her and dress her wound on the bed where they’d both have room, instead of trying to work with the cramped space of the couch.

  It took him a long time to lay Marceline out on the bed. He hadn’t held her in his arms like this in so long that the thought of letting her go, even to take care of her wound, left his heart aching. Sighing, he laid her out on what had been her side of the bed, making sure her head rested against her old pillow. Compulsion drove him to lean over her and press a soft, loving kiss to her lips. Even though she was unresponsive, her lips were warm and soft beneath his own.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart. Then you can get back to living your life,” he whispered to her, the gentle words falling on deaf ears. He drew the blankets up around her, hiding the ugly bite wound from view, before turning towards the bathroom.

  The shower still hissed, and judging by the lack of steam in the room, it had started to run cold. He turned it off, then dug beneath his sink, searching for the first aid kit. Marceline had insisted that they get one within the first few months they had been together after Arin had gotten into a fight with a bear and they didn’t have the supplies to patch him up. At the time, he had thought she was over reacting, but right then, he thanked her fervently in his head. It would take some serious stitches to close the bite wound on Marceline’s shoulder.

  Sighing, he paused in the doorway, hesitant on returning to her side. Helping her now was only going to make it hurt like hell when she inevitably walked away from him again. Weakness clawed at his heart and he desperately wished he could change for his mate. He would do anything if it meant Marceline could be his again.

  “Why must I love you, even now? Even after so long...”

  “Because that’s how your heart works...”

  Desmond jumped at the words, his eyes flying towards where Marceline lay. Her eyes were open and stared up at the ceiling, glazed with pain. “That’s how it’s always worked. Once you love someone or something, you never truly let them go.”

  “It would have been so much easier to let you go,” he whispered, slowly returning to her side. Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed beside her, a sad light clouding his gaze.

  “I wasn’t good for you, Desmond. You ruled with your heart when it came to me and it hurt you, as well as your pack,” she said in a raspy voice.

  Had Desmond not had the hearing of a wolf, he would have missed what she said. Honestly, he almost wished that he had. What Marceline said was true, but that didn’t mean he wanted to confront that fact.

  “I would have figured it out. We would have figured it out, but you didn’t give us the chance.”

  “No. I suppose I didn’t. It’s too late now, though. You wouldn’t want me back after...” she trailed off and closed her eyes. Desmond almost thought she’d fallen asleep. Until he witnessed a cool, shuddering hand curl against his own.

  “I will always want you, Marceline. No matter what you did or do, will ever change the fact that I love you, so much,” he whispered, gently squeezing her hand before bringing it up to his lips to kiss across her knuckles.

  She nodded slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at her ravaged shoulder. Tears had leaked past her closed eyes as he spoke, but a small smile had graced her lips.

  “I love you, too. I just hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what?” he asked. When she didn’t provide him with an answer, he sighed. If she wasn’t ready to talk about what was on her mind, he wouldn’t push her. Marceline was always like this. She’d be cryptic with what was bothering her until she’d worked through it with herself enough to tell him.

  Sighing, he set the medicine kit beside him and set to work flushing out the deeper puncture wounds. Each time the liquid bit into the wound, Marceline’s hand would clench around his and she’d hiss out a breath through her nose.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We’ve got to get this cleaned. Just a little more,” he soothed. A gentle look had softened his usually angular, stone-like face as he worked.

  “It just burns. I’m fine,” she assured, though as her teeth clenched when he poured another round of peroxide over her shoulder, a whimper contradicted her words. She always put on a strong face when she was upset or in pain, and Desmond respected her for it, even if he could see right through her guise.

  Finally, he set the peroxide down and her hand relaxed again.

  “Thank you, Desmond,” Marceline said suddenly. He could feel her eyes staring at him as he sorted through the kit, finding both needle and thread to stitch up the worst of the wound. The words were a surprise and something he hadn’t expected. Marceline was too proud for her own good, and to take help from anyone was a challenge for her, let alone him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  After that, they were silent as Desmond worked to stitch up the wound on Marceline’s shoulder. She looked exhausted and rightly so.

  “Why don’t you go shower? The stitches will hold well enough. I...” he trailed off as a faint blush curled across his cheeks. “I’m sure I can find some of your old clothes you left for you to wear.”

  His words were rewarded with a soft laugh as Marceline slowly sat up and got to her feet. “I’d rather wear something of yours to sleep in. It’ll be easier to get into a baggy t-shirt with this shoulder than in whatever I left here.”

  Desmond’s heart skipped a beat at this and he smiled, his eyes soft and gentle as he looked at her.

  “I’ll find something. You go ahead and get in the shower. I’ll leave the clothes on the sink counter.”

  “Are the towels still under the sink?” she asked as she brushed past him. Her scent, finally clean of blood, enveloped Desmond in a cloud of euphoria. From the day she left, he’d dreamed of having her back in their house. Now that she was here, he could almost pretend that nothing had changed.

  “Yeah. They’re still under there,” he called after her, just in time to hear the door shut.

  For a moment, he just stood in the middle of the room, between the bed and the bathroom door, taking in everything that had happened. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d gone from intentionally avoiding everything that had to do with Marceline, to having her in his house after being attacked by another werewolf. It was exhausting to think about.

  His phone started ringing then, still on the nightstand beside the bed where he’d left it earlier. Slowly, he crossed the room and answered it without looking at the number.

  “Desmond,” he answered.

  “You limp dicked mother fucker!” a furious voice shouted from the other end, so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear.

  “You give her back to me. That bitch owes me her protection fee. We already destroyed her pathetic strip club for not making her payment. Don’t think we won’t start targeting other things.”

  “Ramson?” Desmond said sharply. As soon as it registered who he was talking to, his blood began to boil and a snarl rose in his throat.

  “You have no rights to her, Ramson! I’ll pay you what she owes you, but then you leave her the fuck alone!”

  His words were met with dark peals of laughter that left the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

  “Didn’t the little bitch tell you?” Ramson sneered on the other end. “She’s a whore, Desmond! Your pretty little ex gets fucked by me and I tell my boys not to mess with her.”

  “Liar!” Desmond shouted, to which Ramson only laughed
harder. That’s what Marceline was talking about when she was hoping she’d forgive him. Fury reared its head and bubbled in his chest until he lashed out at the wall with all the pent up aggression he could muster. The drywall gave way and his knuckles split open from the force of the blow.

  “I’ll kill you, Ramson. I’ll kill you for doing this to her!” With that, he hung up the phone and threw it across the room so hard that it broke to pieces against the wall.

  There had never been a time in his life that he’d been angrier than he was in that moment. All he wanted to do was track down Ramson and rip him to shreds. It was only the sound of the bathroom door opening that kept him from doing just that.

  “Desmond? What’s going on?” Marceline asked, her sodden hair dripping to the carpet below. A towel was wrapped around her waist, but from the sound of the shower still running, she must not have been done.

  For a split second, all of his rage turned on her and his eyes turned to the silver of his wolf, aggression rolling off of him in waves. And then his eyes locked on the bite wound. She was a victim in this. Nothing more than a toy for Ramson to play with in exchange for the semblance of freedom that Marceline had always craved.

  Desmond deflated like a balloon and rushed towards her then, wrapping her in his arms despite the water on her skin.

  “I’m sorry,” was all he whispered to her, his face pressed against her wet, curly hair.

  “For someone so tough and mighty, you’ve sure got a serious amount of emotional instability,” Marceline whispered. Slowly, she ran her fingers through his short blonde hair and she pressed her face against his chest with a sigh. “I always liked the softer side of you.”

  “I think you’re the only person who’s ever said I have a soft side,” he mumbled, mind too busy cursing Ramson to tease and joke with her.

  “Probably because I’m the only one who can get away with it,” she teased. “I don’t suppose if someone like Ramson said that, they’d walk away from the conversation without a fight.”