Wild Wolf

by Jennifer Ashley

“I told you,” Misty said, kissing his shoulder, “he was talking to me as a friend.”

  “Friend, my ass,” Graham rumbled.

  “No, this is your ass.” Misty pinched it.

  “Little shit. Just for that . . .”

  Graham wrapped one leg around Misty’s, gently pulling her feet out from under her. Misty squeaked once and landed on her hands and knees. She had no idea what he meant to do, until he slid his arm around her from behind.

  Graham’s shirt landed next to her on the grass. He settled in behind her, covering her back with his large, hot body. He positioned himself at her opening, his tip touching her.

  “I’m not sure I can,” she said, sucking in a breath. “You’re . . . big.”

  “Yes,” Graham stroked her hair, his body warming hers. “But you can.”

  “I’m not a Shifter.”

  “I know. I love that about you.” Graham laughed softly, as though to himself, and then he was pushing inside her.

  Misty gulped air, all her muscles tightening. No, he couldn’t. She couldn’t. Another breath, and Graham slid in another inch.

  He stroked her hair, then her back, making soothing noises. “Take me, Misty. Be mine.”

  Misty took another deep breath, and then she relaxed. Her body opened, and Graham slid straight into her heat.

  “That’s it,” Graham’s voice went quiet, the gravel turning to velvet. “Goddess, you’re good. Tight. Yes.”

  Misty closed her eyes and groaned as he started to thrust. In this position, she felt only him, and all thought dissolved. Nothing existed but Graham, thick and hard inside her, the night, the grass prickling her hands and knees.

  He went faster, hands on her back, beautiful friction. His legs were strong against hers, his rhythm even, unceasing.

  Misty heard cries coming out of her mouth, floating to the sky to echo against the moon. Dimly she realized others would hear, but she couldn’t stop. What Graham did was so intense, so right, and her mouth wanted to let the world know her pleasure.

  She grabbed his shirt from the ground and pressed it to her mouth, letting the cloth muffle the sounds. It didn’t dampen all the noise Misty was making, and Graham laughed at her.

  “Sweet, sweet woman. We’ll go up into the woods and do this all night, and you’ll scream as much as you want to.”

  Yes. Misty pressed back to him, wanting more. Graham kept up his thrusts, harder and faster. He held her, covering her with his warmth, his rumbling voice soothing.

  Misty had no idea what he said, but she loved his voice, clung to the sound. It rolled over her like a warm wave, lifting her into the greatest pleasure.

  More waves caught her, these of her coming apart. She dropped the shirt, bunching it in her fist on the ground as she supported herself against his onslaught. She heard her own voice, low and needy, Oh, yes, Graham. Please. I love it. I love you.

  “You’re beautiful, Misty,” Graham whispered. “So fucking beautiful. Damn it.” His words wound into a tight groan, and he hung on, his fingers hard on her soft flesh.

  He kept thrusting as Misty held herself up, gasping, laughing, groaning. Everything was slippery and hot, wild and bright.

  “Goddess.” Graham rocked back, fists light on Misty’s back, coming into her one last time.

  Misty wriggled back on him, loving the tight fit, the heat, the crazy feeling. Then Graham fell onto her, bracing himself to keep from crushing her. He took her down onto the grass, and gathered her back into him, still joined with her.

  Graham kissed her face, her lips, her hair, arms wrapping around her. “Damn,” he said, and laughed. “That was fucking wonderful.”

  “Yes,” Misty said, snuggling happily back into him. “Wonderful.”

  A lovely feeling. Misty hugged it to her as she held on to Graham, letting herself bask in the moment. Graham and the moonlight shining on her, on her garden, on the flowers around them. Misty snuggled back into him, bringing his hard hand up to her mouth to kiss it.

  She’d been made for this night, she decided. And Misty was going to enjoy every last second of it.

  • • •

  Graham gazed down at Misty lying in her bed, exhausted after another round of lovemaking. He’d carried her in here, she already half-asleep. Xavier had decided to be discreet and guard the front, so Misty hadn’t been embarrassed to be carried through the house, their clothes piled in a little heap on top of her.

  She’d drifted off after their last time, but Graham didn’t sleep.

  He’d gone for days without sleeping before, but this was the longest time he’d lasted without true rest. Shifter wolves could lie in the sun and soak up warmth, relaxing to the point of sleep, but still being alert.

  Now Graham was afraid even to doze. He knew with every dream, Oison grew closer, and he couldn’t afford to let him win.

  He’d make sure Misty was safe—even if Xavier, the traitor, had to guard her—then he’d get with Reid and Eric and figure out a way to find Oison and take him down. They couldn’t wait much longer—Oison might even now be preparing with his Fae friends to round up Shifters and start controlling them. Jace could help Shifters remove Collars, but it was problematic, and Graham liked the direct approach, and he knew Eric did too.

  For now, he’d enjoy his moment with Misty. Graham nestled down into her warmth. He loved her with his entire body, the mate bond snaking around his heart.

  He’d suspected the mate bond had been growing for months now, but he hadn’t let himself acknowledge it. He’d known it for certain when he’d helped Andrea cure Misty with the herbal poultice Andrea’s Fae father had sent with her. Graham had felt the warmth in his heart, the burn that had touched him at the same moment Misty had clutched her chest as though something burned her too.

  Graham reveled in it now, closing his eyes and drawing in Misty’s scent.

  Come to me . . .

  Graham jerked awake. At least, he hoped to the Goddess he was awake.

  Moonlight filled Misty’s room, the moon at the full. Moonlight was magical. Even Shifters, who didn’t much like magic, acknowledged that on the full moon, when the Mother Goddess was at her height, mystical things could happen.

  Fae worshipped the Goddess too, just a weird aspect of her. Instead of the comforting mother figure, they liked the crone-like goddess who wove dark magics.

  Shifter. You are mine . . .

  Son of a bitch. Graham scrambled up from the bed. Everything in him wanted to go find the voice, to do as it commanded. He broke into a sweat as he fought the compulsion.

  Was this what would happen to all Shifters? The Fae made a connection with the Shifter somehow—as Oison had with the water spell—then used the further connection between sword and Collar to make the Shifter come to him. To obey him without question.

  Graham couldn’t. He needed to fight with everything he had. If Graham, one of the strongest Shifters alive, could be gotten at this way, what chance did the rest of them have? He thought about Dougal, and went cold.

  Well, if Fae had magic, so did Shifters, of a sort. They had mates. The touch of a true mate could heal, and the mate bond could protect against many things.

  “Misty,” Graham touched her shoulder.

  Misty didn’t respond. Her breathing was deep but so soft Graham had to lean over her to catch it.

  “Misty. Sweetheart.”

  She didn’t wake. Graham shook her. Misty’s body moved, rubbery, and her skin was cool.

  Fear lacing him, Graham shook her again, and again. She was alive, but slumbering deeply. Graham patted her cheeks then harder, but she never woke.

  Oison must have done this—maybe the Fae’s connection to Misty through the water spell or the sword cut hadn’t been completely severed. Graham stopped shaking her and smoothed her hair, his hand unsteady.

  “He can do whatever he
wants to me,” Graham said in a hard voice, “but he’s not having you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, and the mate bond tightened in his heart. Graham kissed Misty’s forehead then her lips again, then he rested his fingers on her abdomen. If what they’d done this night and last had born fruit, Graham would at least have that.

  Come to me . . .

  The voice in his head was louder, more insistent, and Graham’s body jerked. The words were in Fae, but Graham understood them.

  Moonlight beamed brightly through the window, bathing Misty and Graham in white. “Goddess go with them,” Graham whispered. He touched Misty’s face then her abdomen again, and left the room.

  In the hall, he called Reid but got his voice mail. Graham growled a message at him and flipped his phone closed. He entered Misty’s room again, placed his phone on top of her dresser, then moved to her window and slid through it with Shifter stealth.

  The pain inside him lessened as he left the house, the compulsion spell happy that Graham was moving in the right direction.

  Graham took Dougal’s bike from the end of the driveway and pushed it into the street. The DX Security man stationed here nodded at him, seeing nothing wrong in Graham leaving when he pleased.

  Graham pushed the motorcycle quietly around the corner before he mounted and started it, its throbbing loud in the stillness.

  Come to me!

  “All right, all right, I’m coming,” Graham said out loud. “Shut the fuck up already.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Misty woke when early sunshine slid its first rays into her window. Graham was gone, though the bed bore the indentation of his large body, and the covers were a mess.

  She smiled, remembering the warmth of him around her, the wild passion of their lovemaking in the garden and later in bed. As her fog of afterglow receded, though, she realized she couldn’t hear his voice rumbling through the house, or sense his presence as she often could. She also saw, sitting on her low dresser, the black outline of Graham’s small cell phone.

  Misty sat straight up. “Oh, God, no.”

  She threw off the covers and scrambled out of the bed, and at the same time heard loud voices down the hall. Voices accompanied by frenzied yips.

  Misty quickly pulled on shorts and top, finger-combing her hair as she ran out of the room and to the front door. Xav was blocking it, he red-eyed and dark-chinned from staying up all night.

  “Misty!” Dougal tried to lunge past Xav, who barricaded the doorway with his body. “You’re all right.”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I—”

  Misty broke off as two tiny wolf bodies hurled themselves at her, Matt and Kyle climbing up her to nestle in her arms and lick her face, their tails moving furiously.

  “They came and found me,” Dougal said. “I was in bed at home—they kept trying to say you were in danger. They wouldn’t let me go back to sleep until I followed them. They had me worried.” He bent to the cubs. “See? She’s fine.”

  Kyle lifted his muzzle and howled. Matt nuzzled into Misty’s neck, shivering.

  “I’m all right, little guys,” she said. “But Graham’s gone.”

  Dougal’s eyes widened, and he glared at Xav, his Collar sparking once. “Gone where?”

  “No idea,” Xav said. “Never said a word to me. I saw him take the bike.” He gestured out the door where Dougal’s motorcycle had been replaced by the small pickup Dougal must have driven to get here. “I assumed he’d gone home. He left of his own accord, looking fine to me.”

  “And you didn’t think you should tell me?” Misty joined Dougal in glaring at him.

  “You were asleep,” Xav said impatiently. “Until Dougal came charging over, I didn’t figure he’d done anything but gone back to Shiftertown.”

  Misty’s heart pounded and her head ached. She knew Graham was in trouble, though she didn’t know how she knew it. But the hollow in her heart, where the warmth had been, told her she needed to find Graham and find him now. The cubs had sensed the same thing, had herded Dougal over here to ask Misty what to do.

  Dougal was watching her, worry behind the hard-faced, bad-boy look he tried to maintain. He was waiting for Misty to take care of him, of the cubs, of the situation. The cubs themselves clung to her. Even Xav waited, though warily, for Misty to decide what she would do.

  McNeil needs you. You can save him, but it has to be your choice.

  The words of the odd man, Ben, whom Paul had brought to see her, echoed in her head.

  I can save him how?

  Misty had no idea. She was a florist—she knew flowers and plants and how to sell them. Other than that, her specialty was feeding boys and absentminded fathers, and not being offended when they never acknowledged what she did. She’d known they’d appreciated it, in their own way, but had been too caught up in their own worlds to say so.

  Misty wasn’t a warrior, or a being of magical power, or even a Shifter. She didn’t know anything about Fae—hadn’t even heard of them until one had tried to take her and Graham.

  “Oh, yeah,” Dougal said, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. “I forgot. Reid told me to give you this.”

  He handed her the little book of flower spells Misty had let Reid borrow. Misty shifted the cubs’ weight to take it, clutching the familiar leather cover between her fingers.

  Her heart beating faster, she stepped into her living room, still carrying the cubs. Dougal leaned on the wall in the hall, watching her with Xav.

  Misty opened the book. Inside, she found the sticky note on which Ben had written his name and telephone number the day he’d come to the shop. She was sure she’d left that sticky note in her office, but here it was, inside the book on the vellum that separated the picture from the title page.

  Beneath Ben’s handwriting was another. Call Ben, it said. Ask him to help you. It was signed, Stuart Reid.

  Misty stared at the note for a long time. Still looking at it, she went numbly into the kitchen, fished her cell phone out of her purse, and started tapping.

  • • •

  Graham looked around the shallow cave he and Misty had found when she’d been trying to take him back to the Fae one. He’d left Dougal’s motorcycle near the shack at the bottom of the little hill and hiked his way up.

  All the while, Oison kept up the noise in Graham’s head. You are mine, battle beast. Come to me. Graham gave up trying to shut it out and fighting the need to go to him. He hadn’t been able to ride the motorcycle anywhere but here without being in excruciating, dizzying pain. He’d explained everything carefully to Reid in the phone message—Graham could only wait and hope Reid did what he was supposed to.

  For now, Graham stood in the dry, shallow cave, the temperature rising outside.

  “I’m here,” he called out. “Where the hell are you?”

  Change.

  Graham didn’t want to. He wanted to stand upright and tell Oison what he thought, right before he strangled the fucking Fae.

  “I’ve come to kill you,” Graham said. “I’m going to beat down your body then drag it back up, and beat it down again. Sound like fun?”

  Shift!

  The command flashed through Graham like the worst of the Collar’s shocking pain. Without him willing it, he started peeling off his clothes.

  His body began to shift before he was finished. The last of his shirt and underwear fell in shreds from him as his wolf limbs took form, and Graham landed on all fours, a huge black wolf. He snarled, then lifted his muzzle and howled.

  The mournful wolf’s cry echoed through the small chamber. At the same time, the wall at the rear cracked, shards of stone rattling down to the cave floor.

  Then the wall disappeared entirely and so did the dry cave. A black, glassy obsidian floor swallowed up the dirt one, the trickle of the fountain pounded into Graham’s brain, and flowering v
ines flowed toward him, their scents strong. Graham backed up, but the vines reached him and twined around his feet, climbing up his legs.

  Graham fought them, but the vines grew tighter, flowing back as soon as he pushed any aside. One wrapped around his muzzle, and he bit the vine in half.

  These plants were relentless. In Misty’s yard, he’d thought her flowers pretty, but the ones here were terrifying. Trumpet flowers opened like mouths, and the puffball-like flowers grew until they were smothering pillows.

  Graham kept fighting. He didn’t notice Oison until the Fae was standing in the middle of the cave, near the fountain. Oison wore his chain mail and silver cloak again, with the sword in his hand, his white hair hanging in braids to his waist.

  He spoke in Fae, but Graham understood every word. “If you think your dokk alfar will help you, think again,” Oison said. “You tipped your hand, playing your ironmaster too soon. I fortified myself against him. There he is.”

  Oison pointed with the sword. At one end of the cave, which Graham could barely see through all the damn flowers, was a wall of ice. The ice floe was huge, hundreds of feet high and at least fifty feet wide. In the middle of it was a dark smudge, only just discernable.

  “Dokk alfars are beings of earth,” Oison said. “They master it. I trapped him with the element I master—water. The dokk alfar is still alive, enjoying every pleasure of being frozen almost to death inside ice.”

  Graham snarled, still fighting the vines. He made himself shift back to his human form, though it hurt like hell. His Collar went off, driving pain into him, but Graham forced himself through, ending up on his human feet.

  Fighting the flowers and vines was easier with his hands, and he managed to drag them from his face.

  “I’m not fighting your wars for you,” Graham spat. “Forget it.”

  “Not war. Not yet,” Oison said, sounding far too calm. “My colleagues are right that it’s too soon for war. But they’re wrong that it’s too soon to bring in the Shifters. You will pull others to me—you have a hundred of what you call Lupines under your command, do you not? I will train you to obey and to submit. You will also breed new Shifters for us. Once you have multiplied, in a few generations, then it will be time for war. Good thing we made Shifters to be long-lived.”