by Nikki Sex
“Put down the name and address of your parents, then.”
He frowns.
“What is it, Owen?” Samara’s question flows with a palpable wave of kindness. The woman is genuinely nice.
“Hope and I ran away from home. Our father is a bully, and our mom…” His voice trails off in a fog of grief and despair as words seem to fail him.
Quentin runs his fingers through his beard. “Look, I’ll have to investigate your parents, but I won’t mention you or your sister. I need to check the story. We must be careful when people join our pack. It’s up to me to make sure there are no loose ends.”
“Alright,” Owen says.
The wolf ghost stands and begins to restlessly pace back and forth. Uneasy and unfocussed, I try not to look at him. I can’t get over it. An animal ghost. How? Why? And why does it look toward Hope as its savior?
When Quentin holds out his large hand, I pull my wallet out of my bag, and wordlessly hand him my driver’s license.
The werewolf reads my full name on the license, his eyes narrow with what looks like sudden anger. Then he blinks and flinches—an almost imperceptible movement of something like pain. Gone in an instant, but it had been there.
Quentin steps back, quite unconsciously. The blood drains from his face, making his features seem white. It’s as though he can’t believe something on my license.
Oookaaay…that’s a weird response.
Is it my age? My address? Or my name? What in the hell is the problem?
“Is there something wrong?” I ask.
He says nothing. His face has smoothed back into thin-lipped composure, but there’s a subtle scent of fear coming from him. Whatever could this big brute be afraid of?
Samara distracts me by jumping to her feet. I don’t know what her mate telegraphed to her, but her smile seems terribly forced.
“Why don’t you all come and meet our Alpha?” she says cheerfully, although something in her voice isn’t happy at all. I have no idea what just happened. It seems to me that not having a clue is becoming a disturbingly common occurrence.
“OK,” I manage to choke out.
We all obediently stand and follow her. “So, can you tell us about your pack Alpha? What’s he like? How did he get the job?”
“Our Alpha fought and won the leadership decades ago.”
“Is he…scary?” I ask Samara.
“Oh, yes, very, but he’s also fair. In my opinion, he’s one of the best leaders we’ve ever had. He’s united the shifters. Our pack is growing; our government is stable.” Her laugh is light but humorless. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t get on the wrong side of him.”
“Do you have a council? Do people have the right to vote?”
“Yes, we have a council, but there’s no voting. You could call this government a benevolent dictatorship. His rule is law. Our Alpha is generous to his friends, and merciless to his enemies.”
I say nothing. Their leader is a dictator? Why am I not surprised?
I’m finally going to meet the renowned pack Alpha. The supreme, unbeaten ruler. Notorious killer of grizzly bears and vampires. I’ve also heard him known as the Beast Lord—whatever that means.
Like many super dominants I’ve met in my life, the pack alpha is most likely an arrogant prick. Luckily, after years of experience, I know how to hide my own opinions, so I should be OK. Besides, I’m a “young” woman, and he’ll be so much “older.”
I’m counting on him being protective.
Still, I’m not looking forward to this meeting. In fact, raw panic sits like a fire in my belly. Unchecked, fear can destroy a person, yet being afraid is not a bad thing.
Controlling my fear keeps me alert and alive.
As long as I avert my gaze and act meek, I should be able to influence and handle the situation. Unless the Alpha can sense my inner friend.
If he can sense my demon, I’m screwed.
The pack Alpha is coming this way…I feel him before I see him. His delicious power is a siren call to my demon. Heat begins to sear my blood, while raw hunger crawls over my skin.
I close my eyes, stifling a moan.
Jesus, I haven’t even seen the guy and already he’s a mesmerizing force of nature. Then he’s suddenly here.
His presence fills the room.
Stunned, I come to an immediate stop, freezing completely the moment I see him. The strength of his personality roars out from him, throwing sensual heat like an open fire. The depth of his power sweeps over me, making my knees weak, and my panties wet.
Eyes locked, we stare at each other. I can’t look away—I don’t even want to. Extraordinarily dark, his deep sable-brown eyes capture mine. Flashing with golden flecks, they draw me in completely.
The world disappears.
There is only us. Just us, alone in this room—at least, it feels that way.
I can’t believe it!
Even though his appearance has changed, I immediately recognize the voice, the face, and the potent male scent of the werewolf in front of me. His power, his aura, his musky rich taste.
Powerful, dark and dangerous—the man is intoxicating.
Stafford St. John.
He’s the super scary Alpha of this pack?
When I first met Stafford in 1928, he was thirty-five. That makes him a hundred and twenty-three-years old, now. As a werewolf, Stafford should look sixty or even seventy, but he hasn’t aged a single day. How can that be?
It’s him alright. I would know him anywhere.
Just under six-foot, Stafford is dwarfed by the Godzilla monster Quentin. Surprisingly, compared to Quentin’s greater weight and height, the Alpha seems larger, and more dangerous.
So much power!
Supernatural energy boils off him in waves. Yum.
Stafford’s nerdy look is gone—he no longer wears glasses. Once slim and wiry, he’s gained half his size in mass. Powerfully built, his shoulders and arms are ridged with colossal bands of muscle. In fact, he looks to be all hard muscle—with even harder eyes.
It’s no surprise he scares everyone.
Stafford’s power-level registers as a thousand-year-old from an energy standpoint, which is impossible. Werewolves don’t live for more than say two-hundred years, and I knew him before he became a werewolf.
When I say I “knew him” I really knew him—as in a Biblical manner. I recall our whirlwind romance, culminating in one perfect night of incredible sex the day we arrived in New York.
I’ll never forget his hands on my skin. The feel of his lips pressed to mine, the sensation of him covering my body, filling me—lust pouring off both of us in waves.
Stafford had been an animal in the bedroom even before he became a wolf. My mouth is dry, my heart is in my throat. I can’t help but imagine him naked, his big body heavy against me, him rutting hard, fast, and wanton—like the beast he’s become.
Stafford St. John.
The guy had been insatiable.
Talk about stamina—he fucked me all through the night, right until he fell into complete unconsciousness. I left him without even a note saying thanks or goodbye.
I experience an incredible surge of joy at seeing him still alive, still young. Why hasn’t he aged? The last time we were together was eighty-eight years ago.
I wonder if he’s the kind of man to hold a grudge? That would be just my luck, especially this week.
Sighing, I sure hope he’s not still mad at me.
Chapter 28. Out of the Frying Pan
Stafford stops a few feet from me, his intense eyes hungry and blazing—they begin to lighten to amber, wolf eyes. Is his beast peering out of that confident gaze? Thick and wavy, his dark brown hair touches his shoulders. He hasn’t changed at all, except for the animal magnetism I feel stirring from his beast.
Lord, he’s so damned sexy.
Being in his physical proximity creates a marvelous sensual buzz. The sexual tension in this room is thick as fog. I hope Mr. I-Want-To Do-You-Right-Here-And-Now isn’t obv
ious to everyone else.
Not to mention my wholehearted, silent response of, Yes-Take-Me-Take-Me-please!
I lock down as much energy input as possible, desperately trying to stop myself from feeding. Still, I can’t help but soak up his delicious warmth.
Stafford and I had a ton of chemistry between us before, but now his energy is overflowing. He has an incredible, elemental power. Lethally sexual. Animal magic. Whatever. This man has it all.
His carnal gaze sears my soul. No longer able to look into those penetrating amber eyes, my own gaze lowers to his lips.
Those lips. I could never forget them.
Oh, the man had kissed me with urgency and desperation. He’d breathed me in. When we kissed, it felt as though he wanted to climb right inside of me.
I close my eyes for a moment with the depth of my memories. He did climb inside of me…I remember every delicious inch.
He gives me a slow, sensuous smile. Without touching me, he steps close. Bending forward until his face is near my throat—he inhales deeply. When he exhales, his warm breath tickles my neck, raising goosebumps.
Straightening, he closes his eyes for a moment.
A surge of heat rushes to my face, my chest…and lower. As though absorbing the delicate bouquet of a fine wine, he savors my scent. Oh, the man is an animal, alright.
“Margaret.” His low voice is filled with a well of emotion. “You haven’t changed.”
“Ah, it’s no longer Margaret, I’m afraid. I’m Janice now, but I go by Jan.”
“Jan.” The way he says my name is a velvet caress over bare skin.
With quick animal ease, he steps forward and sweeps me into his embrace. Our contact makes me burn with shockwaves of pleasure. I automatically throw my arms around him as though I’ve been with him every single day of my long life.
Nuzzling into his neck, I breathe in his scent, sink into his power, and listen to his big heart thumping under my ear. Touch magnifies his energy output. Every molecule in my body hums with delight.
I’m hyper aware of Stafford’s firm physique. For a long moment, he holds my softer body, tight against his harder one. His fingers feather through my hair, one hand running up and down my back.
The years disappear.
I feel as though I saw him only yesterday.
My breasts ache, my sex throbs. I’m turned on, sure, but it’s more than that. While trapped at sea, I’d been cornered into allowing Stafford to get to know me.
Worse, I got to know him.
My thoughts return to his persistent gentlemanly attentions while on board the ship, as we’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He’d been so serious. So polite, so ardent and determined.
And so damned proper…
Talk about a stick up his ass!
Unfazed and unperturbable, laughter didn’t come easily. Endurance in the face of adversity, self-restraint rather than expressing emotion—after a childhood of British upper-class culture, he’d been tightly controlled.
I’d wondered back then, did the guy ever let go?
Sometimes, I think I must’ve been a cat in a previous life. The instinct to tease Stafford to get a reaction had been overpowering. It became my mission to break his rigid control.
Just like climbing a mountain, why did I do it? Because he was there.
At one point, I’d resorted to sneakily cheating at cards in an attempt to shake his unruffled foundation. Trusting and easily distracted by my décolletage (thanks to a padded bra) I got away with it for a surprisingly long time, slyly swapping cards, dealing the best cards to myself, and so on.
When he finally caught me, and figured out what I’d been doing, he wasn’t sure what to think or how to react.
I’d laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. I’ll never forget his shock, then his bright-eyed amusement.
Over the course of our trip, we became inseparable. I’d said outrageous things, I teased and tickled him—discovering every vulnerable spot he had. I also found the hidden, playful side of him.
We laughed over nothing until our sides ached.
As you’ll recall, people who get me in bed, become addicted. The first time this happened was when I lost my virginity to Lord Ravensthorpe. He pursued me with dogged vengeance, determined to get under my skirts again.
Why does this happen? Who knows?
It must have something to do with my demon.
Anyway, to avoid this problem I disappear the moment my partner goes to sleep. Thus, Stafford and I couldn’t become lovers while at sea. It’s why I forced him to wait until we got to shore.
Instead, we cuddled, and made out in his stateroom. Good Lord, that had been hot as hell. Five days of serious foreplay with our clothes firmly in place the whole time. No wonder we’d both gone mad, screwing ourselves half to death once we arrived in New York.
I’m a practical person. I’ve left many lovers, but Stafford and I had become friends. Worse, he’d engaged my heart. It had been tremendously difficult to leave him.
“Stafford,” I murmur, my mouth savoring the heated flesh of his neck.
The connection we forged all those years ago is still there—but he’s changed. He’s better. I’m giddy and light-headed from his megawatt voltage of primal, animal power.
Releasing me, he steps back, his hands warm on my shoulders to steady me. “I don’t know why you left, but I’m extremely glad to have you back.” His gaze takes in the rest of our party. “Will you present me to your friends?”
“With pleasure.” I clear my throat. “Stafford St. John, may I introduce you to Hope Tremblay, and her brother, Owen Tremblay.”
Stafford greets them graciously, shaking their hands and making them welcome. Unlike myself, he still has a trace of an English accent. It suits him. Toby, who has been keeping his distance from the powerful alpha, slowly and cautiously steps forward.
“Oh, and this is Wonder Dog, Toby.”
“Wonder Dog?”
“He’s very smart.”
As if to prove the point, Toby stretches out in front of himself. His front legs extend forward as he lowers his head in a graceful bow. Many dogs stretch like this, but Toby is working it for sure. He’s no dummy. Best not to piss an alpha off.
Stafford’s smile is low key, yet his eyes light with amusement as he nods. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Toby.”
Like a lord in his domain, the Alpha turns to everyone, assuming a much more formal manner. Polite small talk is made, Stafford asking if they are being looked after, telling them how delighted he is that they have come. Stafford brings my friends out of their shell through charm, interest in every word they say, and the burning strength of his personality.
Owen, Hope and even my dog—all three are tremendously intimidated. To be fair, Quentin and Samara also seem awed, and they’ve had time to become accustomed to his power.
“Right.” Stafford’s tone is one of unquestioned command. “Please show Hope, Owen and ah, Toby, around. Begin the process necessary for them to join Spukani pack. Take their bags, show them their rooms, give them a tour—whatever. We’ll meet up later. For now,” turning to me, his playful yet heated smile sends a flare of sensual fire shoot up my spine, “I’ll take Jan off your hands.”
Does that mean I’ll be in his hands?
As much as I want to, I can’t be with Stafford. People with a demon should not get close to anyone, particularly not paranormals.
Chapter 29. Into the Fire
Nerves, anticipation and excitement run through me. I’ve never been intimate with a supernatural—too dangerous. But this is Stafford, my friend and ex-lover. For a short period of time, we were incredibly close.
“Yes, my Lord,” Samara and Quentin reply in unison.
“Excuse me, My Lord,” Quentin says respectfully. “Here’s Jan’s driver’s license—I have the details I need already.” He places the card in Stafford’s hand. “Thank you, Sire.”
Frowning, all my inner alarms are going off. There’s a tightne
ss in Godzilla’s huge body. I stiffen, prepare to react. Something is going on I don’t understand.
Not understanding is dangerous.
Turning, Quentin moves off in a quick stride. The others follow, but the distinct scent of fear filters into my awareness. The man looks as though my driver’s license is a live grenade, he can’t leave fast enough. I swear, I can envision his bushy wolf tail between his legs as he sneaks off.
What’s that about?
I recall Quentin’s odd reaction when he first saw my ID. Anger, pain, then fear. Why? I have the same last name as the pack Alpha. So what? There are lots of St. John’s in the world.
A deep line shows between Stafford’s eyes as he frowns at his pack member’s retreating back. I guess he’s also wondering why his pack protector took off like a scalded cat.
He glances down at my driver’s license and I hold my breath. What’s the big deal anyway?
I sense rather than see his reaction. Outwardly—except for a muscle twitching in his cheek—Stafford’s rigid control doesn’t slip, yet an avalanche of strong emotions emanates from him.
Like dominos falling one after another, I sense everything he feels. Disbelief, confusion, understanding, horror, then white-hot fury. I become aware of his beast, very close to the surface. It’s snarling and clawing to get out.
Uh-oh.
I’m back to being a boxer in the ring, reeling with the punches. I thought the king-hit was discovering that Stafford was the pack alpha. Stupid me.
The knockout blow is about to be delivered. I’m pretty sure I’m going down for the count.
What in the hell is wrong with my driver’s license?
“Wait,” Stafford growls in a quiet, menacing voice.
A terrifying aura of blistering power inches over my skin. Fear stops my heart, my breath, my body.
Holy shit, powerful alpha wolf-men can be scary as fuck.
Quentin and his mate immediately halt from thirty-feet away. Werewolf hearing is acute, but that’s not why they stopped. With psychic senses, I’d seen the pack bond flare. Pack bonds are not slim golden threads like a mate bond—they’re red and hot as fire. The Alpha has given an order.
