by MJ Compton
Luke paused. He couldn’t contract human diseases, not with three quarters of his DNA being lycan. He’d never given pregnancy a thought. Abigail wasn’t his mate. He was pretty sure he could make babies only with his mate.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“It’s not okay,” Abigail retorted. She flung her clump of dirty napkins at him.
“Hey. Chill. I can’t get you pregnant. Mumps. When I was a fifteen. I’m sterile.” First diabetes, now mumps. Human diseases sure played havoc with the male reproductive system.
Sometimes he felt as if he had so many lies, he wouldn’t know the truth if it spit in his face. Abigail was busy pulling herself together.
The front seat of his truck really was a sordid little scene. He hadn’t even gotten her completely naked, only her good bits. And he still wore his boots, with his jeans puddled around his knees, and his open shirt hanging from his shoulders.
Her first time should have been better. His first time should have been better.
Maybe he could do better the second time. Because he was so ready for a second time. A second chance.
He grabbed her hands. They were cold. “Hey,” he said, using a softer, gentler tone. “I should have mentioned it sooner, I know.” Their joined hands were near her chest, so he rubbed his knuckles on the skin above her boobs. “You’re so pretty, I couldn’t think. You make it hard . . . to think.” He leaned in for a kiss.
She turned her head. His lips brushed her cheek. Then his tongue found her ear. Some women had really sensitive ears. Abigail was one.
She shivered. He pulled the lobe into his mouth—she didn’t have pierced ears—and gently sucked.
“I need to get home. I can’t leave Libby alone with Mama for long.”
Oh, but he wasn’t done with her.
The skirt of her dress was still rucked around her waist. He pulled her onto his lap, his cock straining against the stubble of her pubic hair. “I still need you.” His voice was hoarse.
Somehow they managed. He knew she wouldn’t resist. She winced, as if having him inside her again so soon hurt her. He was so much deeper inside her. Her movements were awkward as she tried to set a rhythm. He took over.
A strange need swelled in Luke. This position was great, but it lacked . . . something. The close confines of his truck cab didn’t help the situation. He should have taken her to the lakeshore and fucked her there.
He lifted her—she was lighter than a summer leaf—and turned her. “Get on your knees.” Even whispering seemed rough and uncouth. He had to show her exactly what he wanted, but it was worth the effort. He mounted her. Entered her from behind. Oh, yeah. This was the way a woman was meant to be taken.
He nuzzled her nape. Ancient Ones, she smelled so good. His teeth scraped a ligament. She shuddered beneath him. This was the perfect melding of culture: werewolf tradition with human meds making it all possible for him. He nipped at her flesh as he recognized the imminent signs of another orgasm. He realized he’d forgotten to pay attention to Abigail. Then he decided he didn’t care. She’d climaxed several more times than he had. This time was going to be for him.
He gripped her hips to hold her steady as he rammed into her. She cried out. Maybe pain. Maybe pleasure. Didn’t matter. All conscious thought ceased. The faintest tang of blood tickled his nostrils, skittered on his tongue. He’d been waiting twenty-five years to fuck a woman, to live out his fantasies. To be exactly where he was at this moment.
Climax ripped through him. For a second or two, he thought maybe all of his internal organs were trying to escape his body through his dick. Only his teeth on her neck and his cock in her wet tightness kept him from flying through the window.
He collapsed. His chest was slick with sweat, and he adhered to Abigail’s back. Oxygen. He needed air, but his lungs didn’t want to work.
Eventually his breathing regulated. He became aware. A slight chill in the air. The crumpled material of Abigail’s dress twisted around her waist. The scent of what must be semen mixed with her natural lubricant.
Luke rolled away from her. His penis was softening. So much for the magic blue pill. “Are you okay?”
Her head jerked. Once.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered. He tried to help her straighten her dress, but she swatted his hands.
They didn’t speak as they righted themselves. Even then, other than a few monosyllabic directions, the drive to Abigail’s neighborhood was silent. The moon was icy blue against the black sky. Pinpricks of starlight kept the view interesting.
“I live around the corner,” Abigail said. “You can drop me off here.”
Luke pulled to the curb and parked the truck. He turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“Not a good idea.” Her voice trembled.
“Tough.” Something prickled the back of his neck. And the medicine felt as if it were rerouting itself in his system. “I’ll carry your guitar. Where are the songs you want Toke to see?”
She looked surprised he mentioned her music.
“It wasn’t a pick up line,” he told her.
She averted her face. Moonlight glazed the edge of her cheek. “In my case.”
He retrieved the guitar case from the rumble seat. She opened the case and pulled out a thin sheaf of papers, which he left on the passenger seat.
“You really don’t need to walk me to my door.”
“Yes,” he said, “I do. At least to the edge of your yard.”
Was she embarrassed by the neighborhood? It was an older part of town, with small post-World War II houses. Things like that didn’t matter to a werewolf, but humans had odd priorities.
“I’d really rather you didn’t.”
He ignored her. He carried her guitar in his left hand and twined the fingers of his right hand with Abigail’s. She was tense. She shouldn’t have been; he’d melted her through to her bones at least three times. “Did you sneak out tonight?”
“Not exactly. My stepfather works nights, but he checks in on us all the time with a home security super phone app. I wanted to be back before he called.”
Luke thought that was a lousy way to live. Poor girl.
They rounded the corner, and Abigail stumbled to a stop. Red lights flashed in front of a house where every window glowed yellow. Luke counted an ambulance and two police cars.
“Mama!” Abigail pulled free and ran toward the house.
Luke followed, her guitar case banging his calf. He arrived in time to see two EMTs wheel an empty gurney down cement steps to the waiting ambulance.
“Where the hell have you been?” Gary snarled at Abigail, who was trying to follow the EMTs. Gary caught her arm.
Luke narrowed his eyes and reminded himself this wasn’t his business.
“Don’t you know better than to leave your mama alone with your idiot sister?” Gary slapped Abigail across the face.
Luke had Gary’s arm pinned behind his back before Gary could swing again. Hitting women. Hitting children. Abomination. Luke’s brain was in full werewolf mode. “Don’t,” he said between clenched teeth, “ever hit her again or I will kill you.”
The ambulance pulled away from the curb, and the cops came up the walk.
Gary struggled to free himself, but he was no match for a pissed off werewolf. Luke twisted the arm. Slightly. Gary yelped and glared at one of the cops. “You going to let him attack me in my own home?”
The cop turned to Abigail. “Do you want to file assault charges?”
Her eyes were wide. Her lips parted. She shook her head, but her gaze never left Gary.
“What about him? He has my daughter out this late at night, and he threatened to kill me. He’s assaulting me while you’re standing there doing nothing?” Gary’s outrage was palpable, clingin
g to him like pissed off skunk.
Too bad the cops were hanging around. Luke would have liked nothing more than to rip out the weasel’s throat. But that could get messy. And there were witnesses. If only he could be a temporary vampire and glamour away memories.
“Your legally-an-adult stepdaughter was playing some of her songs for Toke Lobo.” Okay, not quite true, but it explained the guitar and the lateness of the hour, while letting the cops know she was legal and not really Gary’s kid.
Abigail nodded.
“Let him go,” the cop told Luke.
Unless he wanted to create more of a scene, Luke had no choice. He squeezed a little tighter before complying.
“Where’s Libby?” Abigail asked. “What happened with Mama?”
“Inside.” Gary rubbed the arm Luke had manipulated.
Abigail ducked as she passed Gary, but she went inside. Luke started to follow, but Gary stepped in front of him. “I don’t ever want to see your face again,” he said, before following Abigail inside. The door slammed.
Again, Luke had no option. He turned to the cops. “You know he’s going to hit her again.”
The cop shrugged. “If she won’t press charges, there’s nothing we can do.”
“What about her kid sister? Isn’t that child endangerment?” Luke had heard cops didn’t like domestic violence calls, but not liking something didn’t mean you didn’t do your job.
“Stay out of it,” the cop advised Luke. He turned and walked to his cruiser. He climbed in, but he didn’t drive off.
Luke picked up Abigail’s guitar and carried it to the porch. He hoped no one would steal it. The poor kid probably didn’t have a lot. He’d hate for her to lose her instrument.
He waved as he walked past the cop.
Abigail wasn’t his problem. He got that. But he couldn’t shake the feeling gripping him. The cop car followed as Luke walked to his truck. Followed as Luke drove out of the neighborhood. Finally, when Luke was on the road leading to Loup Garou, the cop car vanished.
But Luke’s erection was back.
Chapter 3
Everyone was at Granny Omega’s seventieth birthday bash.
Luke very nearly didn’t make it. About an hour before the party was to start, sharp, stabbing abdominal pains had him doubled over and gasping for breath. The mysterious malady vanished barely in time for him to head over to the town lodge, where the festivities were taking place.
Tokarz de Lobo Garnier—Toke Lobo to his country music fans—the pack alpha, sang a solo for the old woman.
What a change a couple of generations made. Luke’s grandfather had been demoted in status—busted all the way down to the lowest of the low—because his mate, the woman chosen for him by the Ancient Ones, was human. As if Gramps had any say in the matter. Seven generations. If Luke ever found his mate, his great-great grandchildren might be restored to their original delta status. Nothing Luke would be alive to see.
Since Tokarz had mated with Delilah Tenney, a human female, the curse on the Omegas smacked of hypocrisy.
And Luke had to contend with being one quarter human. He liked to believe it gave him an edge when it came to technology. Most werewolves were inept, whereas he had a natural ease with a computer keyboard. As a youngster, he’d been shunned by most werewolves his age. His father’s sister had introduced him to the Internet and given him a purpose as well as something to fill his lonely days. His human grandmother had sent him for drum lessons from her brother in Oak Moon.
The pack loved Granny Omega, despite her full-blooded human state. She’d proven to be a worthy werewolf mate. She could hold her own with lycan monthly mood. And she was a great midwife.
Luke was talking to Ethan, bassist for Toke Lobo and the Pack, when the door of the lodge slammed open. Tokarz and Restin, the pack beta, hurried to intercept the interloper.
“Where the hell is he?” the intruder yelled.
Luke froze. He recognized that voice. He made his way through the startled guests until he could visually confirm what his gut already knew. But his gaze slid past Gary Porter to the girl in his grip.
The growl in Luke’s throat warned the others to move out of the way as he launched himself at Gary. He was going to kill him, the way he should have on the night he’d met Abigail. Whose arms bore bruises. As did her face.
Luke was going to kill the scat eater.
Restin caught him first. Tokarz put his big body between Luke and Gary. “Can I help you with something?”
Luke didn’t need the pack alpha getting in his business. Except Abigail wasn’t his business. Not really. Oh, he’d thought about her with a great deal of fondness—and a little lust—over the past three months, but he always immersed himself in something to drive her from his brain.
“You little shit.” Gary’s gaze landed on Luke. He swung Abigail around.
Restin tightened his grip on Luke’s arm, nearly ripping it from its socket as Luke lunged toward Gary again. Red haze filmed over his vision.
“That one.” Gary’s lip curled.
How could Tokarz stand there listening so calmly when the man had clearly been hitting Abigail?
“He knocked her up.”
If Luke thought the lodge had been quiet when Gary burst in, that silence was nothing compared to the hush now filling even the cracks in the floor.
“What?” Tokarz’s tone was sharp. Cutting. Precise. Like a filet knife.
“My stepdaughter is pregnant, and your drummer is responsible.”
Every eye in the place turned to Luke. The accusation barely registered. His father and grandfather appeared from wherever they’d been socializing. “Luke?” his father asked.
“He hit her again,” Luke snarled, still struggling against Restin’s grip.
“You mated?” his grandfather asked.
“What?” Luke shook his head, trying to focus. His rage didn’t recede. “No.” No. He’d . . . fucked her. Abigail. They’d had a good time together. They weren’t mates. She was . . . human. He was lycan.
He wouldn’t mind humping her again.
“Is there a chance the baby is yours?” his father asked.
Restin tightened his grip on Luke’s arm.
“No.” Could it be possible? “Maybe.” He’d tried his black market meds again, but the pills hadn’t worked. He figured it was like other human disorders—get it once, develop immunity.
His father shook his head.
“Let go of the girl,” Tokarz told Gary. Luke wasn’t so crazed that he didn’t notice the subtle shifting of position among the males in the room.
“What is your drummer going to do about his bastard?”
Luke lunged, not caring about his or Restin’s arm, but Restin stopped him mere inches short of Gary.
“If she’s pregnant by Luke, he’ll make it right,” Tokarz said.
No one argued with Tokarz. Even though the inhabitants of Oak Moon didn’t know Loup Garou was a community of werewolves, the residents recognized Tokarz’s inherent authority. “Now let go of the girl.”
“How?” Gary’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “How will he make it right?”
The first thing to make right was Gary’s death. Hitting women was an abomination. “Let go of Abigail,” Luke snapped, “or I’ll chew off your hand, bone by bone.”
His father put a warning hand on his arm.
“Yes,” Tokarz agreed. “Last warning. Let go of the girl.”
Abigail stumbled as Gary released her. Luke tried to spring forward to help her, but Restin only tightened his grip.
“Now get out,” Tokarz told Gary.
Gary opened his mouth, as if to argue, but then appeared to remember who owned the brewery that cut his paycheck. He lowered his chin. Nostrils flared. “She�
��s nothing but a slut anyway.”
Fresh rage gave Luke enough strength to tear free of Restin, but someone tackled him before he could get to Gary, who stalked out of the lodge, slamming the door behind him.
Luke turned his gaze to Abigail. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her chin. She wasn’t wearing a pretty valentine of a dress this cool autumn evening. Loose jeans and a baggy gray sweater hid the curves that had enthralled him three months earlier.
“You told me you had the mumps,” she said, her voice low and shaking. “You told me you’d show my songs to Toke Lobo and call me.” Something glittered in her eyes, turning what had once been pretty into something reflecting ugliness.
“You mated this woman, then abandoned her?” Tokarz asked.
“We didn’t mate,” Luke said. He knew he sounded sullen. He wasn’t a full-blooded werewolf. The physics of mating didn’t apply to him.
His father cuffed him upside the head. “What were you thinking?”
“He was thinking with his penis,” Granny said. “It’s a human male thing. I guess he got more of my genes than we figured.”
“He’s only a quarter human,” Gramps said.
“He’s still got a penis,” Granny retorted. “You guys don’t understand the human male obsession with sex. It skipped a generation with Marcus and came out full-blown with Luke. He takes after my brother. The one who played the drums.”
Gramps and Luke’s father scowled. Tokarz glowered until his mate reminded him he was likely terrifying the young girl trembling at his side.
Then Tokarz sniffed her. “She’s pregnant,” he confirmed.
He turned his eerie yellow gaze to Luke, who braced himself. He was tired of being everyone’s whipping boy. So what if Tokarz was the pack alpha? This was Luke’s life. His future.
