To Wed a Werewolf

by Kryssie Fortune

  Chapter Eight

  Caleb recovered slowly, but the silver chains still locked him in his primal beast form. Every sinew of his massive body ached. The chains burned through his fur, then branded deep welts in his flesh. At least two of his ribs were broken, but the way Sylvie allied herself with his enemies wounded him more than his bruises and burns. Only, where the hell was she? How could he keep her safe when he couldn’t find her? Fuck, how could he keep her safe when he was chained up tighter than a virgin’s knickers? He growled when Ron swaggered back, Sylvie at his heels.

  “Hey, wolf-man.” Ron clattered the knife over the cage bars. “I’m going to get me a fur coat. Come here, Sylvie babe, and tell him how you’ll enjoy seeing him get his.”

  Her smile rubbed acid into Caleb’s wounds. “Enjoy it? After the way he treated me, I’ll cheer. Just make sure all your men gather to watch you tame the big, bad wolf.”

  “Don’t worry, babe. Everyone’s here.”

  Caleb stared at her with wolfish intensity, his pain at her defection showing only in his eyes, but after the way he’d abused her, he deserved her disgust. He tugged and tested his chains, but the silver felt red-hot as it burned his flesh. Somehow he’d get Sylvie out of here—whether she wanted it or not—but he still needed to figure out how.

  He couldn’t work out why she seemed to be doing a head count and matching gang members to empty mugs. Sylvie waited until everyone gathered, but she trembled when Ron unlocked the cage.

  Excitement? Fear? Caleb’s inner wolf yowled. Or does she just hate me so much she wants to see me hurt again?

  Ron hugged Sylvie to his side and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. Caleb’s primal beast went wild, clawing at his chest and howling with rage. He struggled at the chains, wanting that creep’s arm off Sylvie’s waist. When Ron released her, he stepped into the cage, raised his silver butcher’s knife high, and closed in on Caleb.

  Sylvie inhaled a deep breath. As she breathed out, she sent her loudest banshee shriek flowing through the room. Eardrums shattered. Blood poured from her captors’ eyeballs and ears. Two collapsed on the floor. Two more staggered outside. As Ron practically fell out the cage, he grabbed her hair and silenced her with a punch to her stomach.

  Werewolves were immune to magic, and to Caleb her shriek was just an irritating, overly loud noise, but he wondered what game she was playing now. She’d shriveled his heart when she’d claimed she despised him. Now she protected him? Maybe, just maybe, she cared for him after all. He wished he knew what the hell was going on in her head. Whatever the case, Ron would die a long, slow death after Caleb broke one of his bones for every tear he’d made her cry.

  Ron blinked blood from his eyes, shoved her in the cage, and slammed the door. “The pair of you can stay here and starve. We’re off to find a doctor, and we won’t be back for three or four days. You’ll just have to hope your pet dog doesn’t eat you when he gets hungry. Think about that, but remember, we’ll be back eventually—and we’ll bring earplugs.”

  Once certain they’d gone, Caleb rasped, “I don’t eat little girls.”

  “You did before.” She blushed. “And—”

  He cut her off midsentence. “Well, I won’t again. Now concentrate on getting out of here.”

  She reached across and touched his chains. “We need you out of these. Do they hurt?”

  “They burn like fire,” he snarled, “and if I could get out of them, I’d have done it back in the van.”

  She stared at him from the far side of the cage. “Sorry, that was stupid, but my brain’s a bit scrambled, what with the constant kidnappings and stuff.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. There, apology made. Let’s work out what to do next. Try to squeeze through the bars.”

  She held her stomach with one hand, gripped the cage with the other, and pulled herself onto her feet. After a couple of moments to catch her breath, she wriggled and squirmed for what seemed like forever, but only her arm and shoulder fit between the uprights. Neither her head nor her slender hips would pass.

  “Stop,” Caleb commanded.

  “Sorry.” Sylvie slumped on the floor, her back against the cage, her arms around her knees. “I’ve failed you again. I planned to find the key and get us both out of here, but I couldn’t stand by and let him cut you.”

  Caleb turned his wolfish face toward her, his eyes full of suspicion and doubt. He’d hurt and insulted her, treated her worse than the moronic humans, and she wanted to save him? Common sense said she had an ulterior motive, but her schemes had gone badly awry. She couldn’t really care what happened to him, not after he’d taken her virginity and vanished—could she? Gods, hope was a terrible thing.

  “You look like you need a hug, but I’m sorry I can’t oblige. You could always come closer and rest your head on my chest if it helps.” Even as he spoke, he tensed and waited for her to reject him again. She’d never willingly approach him, especially when he was trapped in primal beast form—all fur, fangs, and fury. Only, she’d screamed her earsplitting shriek to save him. What the hell was he supposed to make of that?

  She uncurled from the bars so slowly he expected her to stand up and kick at his ribs. Instead she crawled the few yards between them, buried her head in his fur, and wept.

  How could a tiny woman’s tears make a powerful Lykae king crumble? Caleb needed to pull her close and console her, but he clamped down on his emotion, told himself he had brains as well as brawn, and tried to think.

  “Why don’t you just flash yourself out of here and fetch help?” he asked more to distract her than in the hope she could.

  “I would,” she hiccupped between sobs, “if my powers worked when I wanted. The only time I’ve managed to flash anywhere was when I popped up at Giles’s wedding, right after I escaped from you.”

  He hated that, thanks to him, she’d had to take a stupid risk when she’d climbed out of his tower. Elves’ blood, she’d almost been crushed by an anaconda vine. He’d given her cause to hate him from the moment they met, and she’d still screamed her banshee wail—to protect him from Ron’s silver knife. Her courage twisted his insides like a punch in the gut, but he couldn’t move to hold her close, kiss away her tears, or console her.

  He’d never felt so damn useless in his life.

  SYLVIE BURIED HER face in Caleb’s fur, but defeat settled like a lead weight on her soul.

  He growled and twisted, but the chains locked him in primal beast form, sapped his strength, and held him like a vise. When she rested her hand on his side, his fur was warm and so soft she wanted to snuggle closer—only she was treating him as an object exactly as Ron had treated her. “Are you sure this is okay?”

  “I promised not to eat you,” he groaned, “and right now we both need a bit of comfort.”

  In an instant she had her back nestled against his broad chest and the top of her head tucked under his chin. Even chained, he was all about strength and protection, so sexy she wanted him to nip and bite. She loved that she could touch him in his primal form. Until Ron and his murderous crew returned, she could do anything she wanted with Caleb—and she wanted to do a lot.

  Caleb growled and tugged at his chains. “They’ll be back soon, and I need you out of here. Tell me how you flashed that first time. Try to remember how you thought and felt; then maybe you can do it again.”

  She’d felt terrified, lost, and frustrated, but she couldn’t tell him that. Worse, the only time she’d touched her magic was when she’d orgasmed in his arms. Her cheeks heated and her tongue tied in knots, but he was one persistent Lykae. “Come on, sweetness, think what you did after I left you.”

  Callously abandoned her, he meant—right after he’d buried himself balls-deep in her pussy. Every thrust of his hips had strengthened her magic, but she hadn’t realized she’d overflowed with mystical energy until she’d bent that deadly vine to her will. She’d flashed through the universe like a full-fledged fairy and taken herself back into the hotel. And in her one and only sc
ore for the fairy side, she’d finally stopped the war.

  “Sex made me stronger,” she whispered into his fur.

  “Sex? Then, sweetness, whilst the spirit is willing, we are so screwed. I don’t get hard-ons in my primal form, and even if I did, everything’s supersized. I’d never fit inside that tight little pussy of yours.”

  “Can’t or haven’t?” she asked. “I mean, have you got all the equipment even if it’s not working?”

  “It’s embarrassingly flaccid, but believe me, it’s there.”

  She turned and stared into his eyes, her face as scarlet as her borrowed dress. “Maybe I could, erm, maybe…” She stopped, took a deep breath; then her words tumbled out in a rush. “Maybe I could wake it up.”

  “I doubt even you could manage it, especially with the silver branding my flesh.”

  “A challenge?” Suddenly cocky, she grinned. “Well, I can only try my best.”

  She stroked her hand down Caleb’s chest and abdomen until she reached his dick. Even soft and unresponsive, it felt like the branch of a tree. Once she made it stand to attention, she still needed to fit that giant thing inside her. He was so damn big, he’d rip flesh and shred her innards like so much waste paper—but she’d do whatever it took to get them both out of here alive. Afterward she’d find her brother, and he could heal her with a spell.

  “Sylvie, stop!” Caleb ground his teeth—and even trapped in his savage primal form, disappointment poured off him in waves. When she pulled her hands out of his soft fur, he gave a small, involuntary growl. “Even if you work a miracle, I’ll split you in two. Better if you despise me and flirt with Ron. Maybe that way one of us will survive.”

  “And my way, we both stand a chance. Oh, look at your pout.” She ran one finger around his mouth. “Maybe I should just call you Caleb the Cute.”

  “Cute? Woman, I am Caleb the Cold, most dreadful and terrible of all the primal wolves. It won’t work, and I refuse to hurt you.”

  Sylvie moved her hand back to his dick. “And how are you going to stop me? You taught me about tied up and helpless, and now it’s my turn to play.”

  She curled her fingers around his cock, delighted when it twitched in her hand. She winced at his savage snarl, but she wouldn’t let a little thing like his bad temper keep her from saving them.

  She needed him stiff as a poker, so hard she could slide up and down the length of him, but however much she stroked and squeezed, his dick only flopped about in her hand.

  He turned his head and stared at the silver bars. “Told you it was useless, but don’t let that stop you having your fun at my expense.”

  His closed-down expression made Sylvie pause. Her instinct screamed, Just go for it! But what if he really didn’t want this? Earlier he’d driven her crazy with his slow seduction that had made her body thrum with sensual needs. He’d filled her with wanton desires, but in the end she’d initiated that wonderful, mind-blowing sex. Okay, after that, he’d loved her and left her—just like his brother. Clearly Lykae males found her…disappointing.

  She’d have to screw him if she wanted to save him, but the way he’d just rejected her again felt like a burning brand seared her heart. Pain consumed her like fire; then she felt his tackle twitch again. Maybe it was time for drastic measures. “I wonder what happens if I do this?”

  She shimmied down his body, her breasts rubbing track marks in his fur. She closed her lips around that tree trunk he called a cock, and tormented him with long licks and figure-eight spirals; then she ran her teeth over the tip. He groaned as his dick stopped twitching, but it finally stretched and grew until it poked through his fur like a wide copper pipe.

  She lifted her head and teased, “I think the equipment’s underused, but it’s definitely not faulty.”

  He groaned but didn’t say a word.

  She returned to his cock, then moved lower, sucking and licking his balls as if they were giant gobstoppers. When she took one huge testicle into her mouth and fisted her hands around his cock, his whole body tensed. She pulled back and ran her tongue in a twisting pathway around his engorged penis. She’d never felt anything so big. Maybe he was right. Maybe she couldn’t take that monster inside her, but if she didn’t, he’d die.

  His dick was erect and eager, and Ron had said they’d be gone for days, so she deliberately took her time.

  Beautiful Lykae. Mine for the taking—but I’ve got to do this right.

  When she sucked him as far into her mouth as she could, power stirred inside her. It was exhilarating to have the strongest, most fearsome Lykae warrior—their hereditary king, for God’s sake—groaning at her touch.

  Still unsure and nervous, she squeezed his balls with one hand while she used her tongue to stroke a steady rhythm up and down his cock. A deep growl started in his stomach and rumbled around his larynx. He tried to pull out, but she increased the pressure of her fingers, drew him deeper into her throat, and sucked harder.

  “For Gods’ sake, woman!” He bellowed and came so hard she almost gagged. “Stop.”

  She swallowed every drop, and when she looked up, her grin overflowed with wicked promise.

  “I didn’t think it was possible,” he panted. “Elves’ blood, Sylvie, I could have choked you.”

  She nestled into his soft fur and sighed. “Surprised me, I think, but I need to figure out how to get that primal-form thing of yours inside me before I make you come again.”

  “Masturbate.”

  And right back to those teenage body issues—even when she was trapped in a cage. “No way. Not with you watching. Besides I’ve never touched my magic that way.”

  “Sylvie, you’ve got to make yourself wet; then we’ll try to do things your way, but I’m too big. I’ll tear your flesh and rip you up inside. We’ve got to think of something else to get us out of here.”

  His protectiveness melted any defenses she’d mustered, but deep down she knew it was more. She wanted him with every cell in her body, and she’d do whatever it took—even impale herself on his giant dick—to keep him alive.

  Chapter Nine

  Caleb had held his breath as Sylvie inched toward him, but when he’d expected more humiliation and pain, she’d laid her head on his chest. He’d treasure the trusting way she’d curled up against him until the day he died. He just prayed it wasn’t anytime soon. His mate was perfection, courage, and sexy, lickable curves. Rather than risk hurting her, he threw his mammoth strength against the chains. And the damn things didn’t give an inch.

  A wolf’s howl would carry for miles. The packs would hear it and rush to his aid—but so would Ron. He refused to gamble Sylvie’s life on the chance that the packs arrived first. Jaw locked, he ignored the silver torturing his limbs and heaved again. Nothing.

  Elves’ blood, I’ve never been so useless. It chafed his warrior nature that his escape depended on bedding a tiny Fae woman. His dick would rip through her innards like a sword. What if he made her hemorrhage inside? He’d never come in his primal form before, hadn’t even thought it possible, but his woman was a miracle worker. Even with the silver burning into his skin, she’d roused his flaccid cock and brought him to climax.

  Miraculous fairy. She’s definitely mine.

  He couldn’t fight her off, couldn’t protect her from herself, so he’d do whatever he could to ready her sweet body before he thrust inside her.

  “If I do this,” Sylvie whispered, “you’ve got to close your eyes.”

  “Sweetness, the instant Ron comes back, I’m dead meat, yet you deny me my last request.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “I’ll die of sheer bloody frustration if I don’t watch you prime your beautiful body. Strip for me,” he commanded. “Slow and sexy.”

  Sylvie’s teeth worried her lower lip, but she rose to her feet and slowly inched the scarlet dress off her shoulders. He groaned as it skimmed her arms, caressed her bare breasts, and pooled on the floor, but she crossed her arms over her chest.


  “Hands,” he rasped. “Move your hands and let me see your breasts.”

  Her cheeks flushed as red as her panties. She hesitated a moment then shyly moved her hands. Her breasts were beautiful orbs topped by bloodred cherries that he needed to lick and taste.

  “Take off your panties and come here.”

  Even chained and helpless he sounded every inch a king. Sylvie managed a shy smile, dropped her head, and let her hair shield her face as she rolled her panties down her thighs.

  “Look at me,” Caleb growled. “I need to see your face.”

  His mate moved in slow motion, but she lifted her head and met his gaze.

  “Beautiful,” he groaned, “and all mine. Come here.”

  One small, nervous step and she stood naked beside him.

  “Turn around and let me see all of you.”

  Like a puppet, she pirouetted with indolent grace.

  “Bend over me, put your left nipple in my mouth, and whilst I feast on your flesh, I need you to massage your clit.”

  She knelt beside him, arched her back, and offered him her breast. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened her legs wider. Her fingers rubbed a rhythmic dance over her pussy. Caleb reveled in her obedience and vowed that one day she’d love him enough to be truly his. When he swirled his tongue over her sensitized nipple, she whimpered with delight. The heady scent of her arousal washed over him. He wanted her on her hands and knees as he took her from behind. Trapped in this cage, he’d take anything she offered. Whatever happened, he intended give her so much pleasure she remembered him forever.

  “How wet are you?” he demanded.

  “Soaked,” she moaned.

  “Then turn around and kneel astride my waist.”

  Careful not to knock the chains, she pouted and turned her back.

  Pain forgotten, he ached to kiss that pout into a smile. “Good girl. Now scoot your delicious pussy up over my chest and let me taste.”

  She wriggled her slender ass up his fur-covered chest until he flicked his tongue over her cunt.