Werewulf Journals: Fortrayn's Forbidden Fling

by Camille Anthony

  Melody cried out, tears running down her cheeks, hands clutching at Hunter as she pleaded for him to take her, take her, take her.

  Her words, the sound of her chants, pushed Fort up, shoved him over into a blinding orgasm. He howled as he came, pumping his cock, fisting the head as his sperm fountained over his hand and sprayed the flat expanse of his belly. Sucking in great drafts of air, Fortrayn sagged against the window, his eyes seeking Hunter’s, wondering what his Alpha thought of him jerking off while watching him fuck.

  A huge grin on his hairy face, Hunter winked before bringing his hand down in a playful slap on Melody’s quivering flank. Tongue lolling, he increased the power of his thrusts, the forceful blows making her breasts sway and her flesh dance. He carefully twisted his lethally tipped two middle fingers into her cunt while his clawed thumb swept over and over her clit, inciting her to come.

  With a wailing scream, Melody exploded into orgasm. Body tensed and bowed, she yelled instructions for him to pound her ass, fuck her deep as she pumped her hips against Hunter’s cock, pushing him further up her dark passage. Her fingers dug into his constraining arm, human nails ineffectual against the denseness of his fur. With a final cry, she collapsed over her mate’s arm, hanging lifeless in his grasp.

  Hunter threw back his head and let out a mighty roar of possession as he finally gave in to his own orgasm. The lines of his body drew taut and tense. He had obviously knotted in her. His thick and viscous semen ‑‑ releasing in slow pulses ‑‑ would not overflow Melody’s tight anus until the knot in his penis softened and released the plug it had formed.

  Body trembling in his own aftermath, Fort watched as his Alpha ‑‑ still joined with his lover ‑‑ tenderly maneuvered them to the couch. They looked like King Kong and Faye Raye ‑‑ him big and hairy, an ape; her, despite her bulk, seeming fragile against his hulking physique ‑‑ both happy and sated. The matter-of-fact way Hunter showed his loving concern for his woman ‑‑ how he handled her, his paws moving carefully, ensuring his claws didn’t catch in her fragile skin; the way he tongued her, lapping up their mixed fluids ‑‑ made Fortrayn’s heart ache.

  He wanted a mate of his own. Fort sighed. He was too low in the pack to earn the right to a breed or one of the full-blood bitches. Even if fate fucked up and dropped a breed in his lap, some stronger, more alpha wulf had only to challenge to take her from him.

  Oh, but if I ever find someone of my own, I will be the most loyal of mates. I will cherish my woman above all others and work hard to give her all the luxuries she could ever desire ...

  Lost in visions of his future, Fortrayn didn’t hear his cousin the first time he called.

  “Come, Fort! Here, boy, come to daddy!”

  Fortrayn growled. “I suppose you think you’re cute.”

  Hunter smirked. “Mel certainly thinks so.”

  Fortrayn stamped around to the porch and flung the door open. “She’s deranged.” His eyes took in the mess they’d left on the coffee table. “Can I come in now, or are you two going to initiate the hallway next?”

  “You can come in now, puppy, before you end up wetter-behind-the-ears than you already are,” Hunter drawled, reclining against the couch cushions, sleeping woman wrapped in his arms. Fort stomped in and past him, flashing a glimpse of fang. “And tuck that worm back inside your pants. You probably gave the neighbors a heart attack.”

  Startled, Fort looked down. Well, hell!

  Chapter Two

  “Fortrayn, will you be able to stay late and help me close up after next week’s viewing? I really need you to hang around.”

  The insecure, tentative note in his boss’s voice was new and different enough to snag his attention. Fort looked up from the ledger, carefully placing his finger over the spot where he’d stopped counting. The gallery’s end-of-the-month inventories ‑‑ monetary and otherwise ‑‑ played hell with even his above-average mathematical abilities.

  Unfortunately, being an artist herself, cursed or blessed ‑‑ depending on how one looked at it ‑‑ with the artist’s usual ability to ignore all but their craft, Rosa kept the monthly books the same way she ran the gallery ‑‑ haphazardly. The third time the IRS fined the gallery for underpayment of quarterly taxes, fines that cut deep into his already meager salary, Fortrayn begged her for a chance to tackle the gallery’s accounting. They’d both been surprised at how well he did.

  “You asking me, not telling me I’m on the schedule?” She might act in a cavalier way over the payroll, but when it came to her art or her gallery, she held the reins in firm hands. Her asking was out of the norm, but since last month, when he’d canceled a night in order to help his cousin save his newly adopted cub, she’d stopped scheduling him without his input.

  She shrugged. “Nothing is final. You know Perry ‑‑ so paranoid he might decide it’s not time to put his babies on view. Just in case he doesn’t back out, I need someone here with me. I don’t want to close by myself.”

  Swiveling to face his boss, Fortrayn couldn’t help but smile. Rosa Isyasia Montalvo always had that effect on him. Hair the shade of spicy cinnamon fell in thick waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were the prettiest brown he’d ever seen ‑‑ dark and smooth like the creamiest milk chocolate. Warm brown skin covered sleek, toned muscles, and a sprinkling of darker brown freckles dotted her cheeks, giving her a deceptively girlish appearance. She wasn’t more than five-foot-five, but every one of those inches curved and dipped in ways designed to fire the lust of any red-blooded man and most wulves.

  Fort let his gaze track boldly down her svelte length, not missing the quickly suppressed spark of awareness in Rosa’s eyes. Seeing he’d caught her look, she demurely lowered her head, averting her gaze.

  He’d been aware of her interest since the first day he’d started working for her. Though she’d been attracted, she’d shied away each time he’d made a halfhearted move on her. So he’d backed off, waiting until she became aroused sufficiently enough to act on her burgeoning feelings. He didn’t think he’d have to wait much longer.

  He was glad about that. Things were so tense at home right now, he could use the uncomplicated release of a simple fling. Rosa was a nice woman, a great boss, and a loyal friend. He’d worked for her since coming to the city three years ago. She’d been there for him, offering to listen without passing judgment as he ranted against Hunter’s strict orders and demands. She’d watched him mature from a gangly pup into the large-boned McCallum frame that eerily echoed his cousin.

  He liked her a lot. Fucking her would make for an enjoyable interlude. He would make sure she enjoyed the ride. With her being a human without Breed tendencies, he’d never be able to fuck her in mid-form ‑‑ he was just too big in that shape. But the skin-form offered its own pleasures. Of course, his fur-form was off-limits with her, also. Wulves mated in fur-form, and mating between humans and wulves was prohibited.

  Thank goodness, he didn’t want to mate her, just fuck her. Over the last few months, she’d begun returning his flirting overtures. Last month, if Hunter hadn’t intervened, he was sure he’d have scored.

  Gazing at her now, his eyebrows twitched together, nostrils flaring. Under the clear aroma of her arousal, an elusive scent, faint and edgy, came to him. Fort stiffened. Fear, that unknown aroma, and something else ‑‑ something wrong ‑‑ teased his nostrils. The oily stink beaded and rolled off Rosa’s skin to permeate the air.

  He came to his feet, eerily alert, aware on a visceral level of significant events converging and coalescing, forming an inexorable pattern that would somehow change his life. Wary, he approached her.

  “You never used to need me around to close unless heavy work was involved. Perry is a painter, not a sculptor. He doesn’t work in stone. So what’s wrong? What’s frightened you, Rosa?”

  The acrid taint of fear heightened. Eyebrows pleating, Fort drew nearer and almost howled. She reeks of wulf!

  The musk was almost unbearable. If he’d been in fur-form, he
’d have rolled his nose against a clump of grass to clear his adenoids. Some damned wulf had dared to place a territorial marking on her, ignoring his scent ‑‑ because of his scent.

  A growl trickling from his mouth, he sniffed the air about her. “You’ve been mauled by a beast. When were you attacked?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her when she didn’t respond quickly enough. “Answer me, damn it!”

  “Madre de Dios!” she cried, fingers sketching the sign of the cross. “How did you know?” Her fingers dug into his waist, she clung to him, shaking with her fear.

  Fortrayn ignored her question to ask one much more pertinent. “How long ago? When did it happen?”

  Choking back sobs, Rosa lifted her head and gazed into his hazel eyes. “Are you all right? You look ... strange. What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  Fort huffed. Patience wasn’t his long suit. His eyes were the first to go when nature called. Making an effort to control his anxiety, he pushed back the change and focused on presenting a normal human appearance. “Never mind that; just tell me when you were attacked.”

  “It was the night you couldn’t stay. Last month.”

  “Damn, damn, damn it!” Fortrayn released his petite boss and spun away, sickened and maddened.

  This was his fault.

  He recalled that afternoon. He’d flirted heavily with Rosa, touching her, rubbing against her at every chance, marking her with his scent. He’d planned to come back that night, help her close the gallery, and then open her up to some serious fun and games. He knew she’d been ready to get freaky with him. He’d smelled it on her. Hunter’s edict had derailed his plans.

  A soft hand touched his arm, and he jerked. She spoke softly, seeking to soothe his agitation. “Do not distress yourself. It was not your fault, mi amigo. This is why I did not tell you. I feared you would try to shoulder the blame.”

  Fortrayn gazed down into her lovely face. His stomach muscles cramped as he imagined her, trapped under a heaving wulf, driven half-mad with fright. Her fear would have been an exhilarating cocktail to the attacker. He’d have pushed the envelope, forcing her panic higher and higher ...

  Fort closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain of looking at her open, friendly expression. He knew exactly who was to blame in this situation. The wulf had taken her because he’d scented her. The insult was meant for him ‑‑ an arrogant gesture of disrespect. “Oh, but I am. More than you could know, Rosa, I am at fault.”

  She stretched her hand out to him. “No.”

  “Yes, damn it. Yes!” He avoided her hand. If she touched him now, he would explode. “Tell me ... everything ... what he looked like, smelled like ... what he did to you. Leave nothing out.”

  She lowered her head. “I do not wish to speak of this thing. I wish to put it behind me. I will not live in fear.”

  With a growl, he snatched her against him. “You don’t understand, and I don’t have time enough to teach you. Just ... give me the information I need.”

  “I am struggling to get past this. Why do you persist?”

  Fort raked his hands through his hair. The sharp sting told him he’d sprouted claws. “Shit! I so don’t need this! Did he fuck you? Rosa, did he bite you?”

  She looked confused. “The man did not attack me at all. It was his dog. It got loose from its chain. It chased me and knocked me down, scratched my thighs and arms.”

  Fortrayn froze. This was getting worse and worse. He’d heard of double whammy teams: one wulf passing for human while another walked in fur-form. The “dog” would bite, but both “dog” and “owner” would claim the woman, sharing her body for sex before eating her. They operated on the edge of pack law and considered humans fair game. “What did the man do while his dog mauled you?”

  “Nothing at first, though I cried out to him to help me. He just watched the dog hurting me ... and smiled.”

  “Is that all you can recall about him? And the dog ... did it bite you, break the skin with its teeth? Have you been hearing voices this month, voices of people not there?”

  She looked at him askance. “I think it would have, but a commotion on the next street must have frightened them off.” She shivered. “The man’s eyes ... glowed. They frightened me more than the dog’s fangs. I don’t know what you mean about voices. Why would I hear voices?”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Fortrayn leaned over and thumped his forehead against the wall two times. This was his fault. As an adult, he had to make things right. Right now, he’d like to run home to Hunter, tell him all about this problem, and let him solve it. Situations like this were why the city kept Hunter on the payroll.

  He couldn’t do it. After finally getting Hunter to see him as an equal, as an adult wulf, he would look like a fool if he ran to him for help the first time he faced trouble. He had to rely on himself, and as far as he could see, there was only one thing to do. His proposed fling had just turned into forever.

  Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. Letting his eyes coast down her svelte frame, he smiled, hoping she would prove cooperative. “Take your clothes off.”

  Chapter Three

  “Fortrayn?”

  Unsure she’d heard him correctly, Rosa peered hard at her young employee. She didn’t recognize the man standing before her as the calm, responsible person she’d hired. The stormy fellow pacing before her certainly hadn’t been calm this evening. In fact, his demeanor had been anything but collected. He didn’t look like an insane criminal, but these days, one never knew.

  Rosa snorted. Fortrayn as a criminal ‑‑ she couldn’t see it. He was a steady, quiet worker, who showed up on time and didn’t mind the occasional late night. He did his work and went home. He was a nice kid.

  A stern voice spoke in her head. Right, Rosa. Just keep telling yourself that! You’ve never seen a more macho man, except that hunky cousin of his. Admit it, Rosa Isyasia Montalvo ... you want him! Who are you kidding? You’ve wanted him since you first saw him. It’s why you hired him.’ Course, you chickened out the first time he flirted with you. Shit, who wouldn’t want him? He’s the hottest thing since jalapeño salsa.

  He looked down at her, chest rising on a quiet sigh. “Call me Fort.” Moving over to the door, he turned the “Open” sign to “Closed” and pulled the shades. “It’s less formal than Fortrayn.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t use a diminutive. Our business relationship ... well, our personal rela‑‑”

  “Is about to undergo a drastic change.” He interrupted her stammering, raised a hand, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Get naked, babe; we have work to do.”

  “Huh?” She laughed nervously, warily watching the well-built man stalk toward her. “El sordo no oye pero compone!”

  When he didn’t respond, she laughed again. It was a pitiful attempt at humor. “Roughly translated, that means ‘The deaf don’t hear, so much as compose.’” She swallowed. “It’s a phrase we use when we’ve missed a conversational string. I couldn’t have heard you right.”

  “You heard right ... and you aren’t stripping. Get busy.”

  The shirt came off, exposing a broad expanse of furry chest. Her eyes widened in appreciation. She hadn’t known she liked hair. Her ex-husband had waxed everything. She should have known his true preferences by the way he groomed and curried himself. Her breath stumbled. Oh, damn, she was in trouble.

  He started on the fastening of his pants.

  She backed up, shocked to her core, which was pulsing and dampening at an alarming rate. “Por Dios, hijo, what is wrong with you? You never acted this way before.”

  Hazel eyes glinting with an expression that caused her pulse to race, Fortrayn growled at her. “Rosa, you don’t know what the fuck is going on here. I don’t want to scare you, but I’d rather do that than let you believe you can ignore this and it’ll go away.”

  He shucked off his pants and stood with his hands fisted at his lean, tanned hips. The hefty bulge in his white Speedo shorts made her mouth water. She shielded he
r eyes with her hands. “Fortrayn McCallum, you put your pants back on right this minute! You can’t do this here! I’ll ... I’ll sue you for harassment!”

  “Rosa Isyasia Montalvo, you get your cute little ass naked right now, or you might not be around to sue anybody.”

  She gasped, eyes widening even as her brows drew together. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not. You ought to know better than that.” He held out his hand in supplication, easing toward her.

  “Stay away!” She took a faltering step back, put up a hand to hold him off. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Look, don’t panic ‑‑!” He stopped advancing. “You have to listen to me!” he snapped at her, making sure she heard him. “You’ve been marked ... by the man and his dog. Only, the two weren’t what they seemed.”

  She took another step back. “You’re talking crazy. Get out of here, Fortrayn.” She pointed toward the locked and shaded door. “Don’t come back until you’ve ... just don’t come back!”

  Fortrayn stopped when she ordered him to leave. “I can’t go. I can’t leave you here to face them alone.” He dragged his hands through his unruly dark brown mane of hair. His mouth twisted as he looked at her shaking finger. “I’m going to have to show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “The trouble you’re in. In one night, the full moon will rise. The dog that attacked you will be back, with the man pretending to be his owner.”

  She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. “If they come back, I’ll call the police.”

  Fort shook his head. “You shouldn’t underestimate these guys, woman. They won’t give you the time to contact the police. Even if you do manage it, you’ll be dead before they could get here.”

  A hand crept up to her throat. “Dead?”