The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle

by Maree Anderson

  Shit! Chalcey launched herself at Wulf and hung on to his arm to prevent him from landing a punch in Jai’s face.

  “Whoa, big boy!” Displaying an excellent sense of self-preservation, Jai had scuttled backward, out of reach. “Hey, cool it, man. I’m her dance partner, nothing more. I don’t even like women that way! They’re just too—” He waved an ineffectual hand. “Well, suffice it to say, gimme your big hard body over her soft girly bits any day, capiche?” He cut his gaze to Chalcey. “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean to be insulting.”

  “No probs, Jai. I’m sure Wulf understands. Don’t you, Wulf?” Chalcey could feel the tension thrumming in his arm, his muscles tensed and poised to inflict a great deal of pain. “Wulf, meet Jai. My dance partner.”

  Jai stuck out his hand then snatched it back when Wulf growled at him—really growled, like a… a… hungry wolf. Uh oh. This was so not going well. “Jai likes men,” she blurted. “Not women. He’d much prefer to take you to bed than me.”

  Wulf relaxed minutely. And then, as her words sank in, he tensed again, staring at Jai. “You desire to bed me?”

  Jai struck a pose, head cocked to one side and finger tapping his nose. His eyes raked Wulf from head to toe, lingering on the considerable bulge in the crotch of Wulf’s jeans.

  Chalcey stifled a giggle at Wulf’s shocked expression.

  “I do not—” Wulf composed his features, smoothing all dismay from his face. And when he spoke, his tone was careful. “I am unfamiliar with your customs, and I can only tender my apologies for any misunderstanding. I am not a lover of men.”

  Jai chortled. “Chill, Wulf-man, you’re too much testosterone for poor little ole me. I’m off to find a partner who don’t mind me being the man.” He sashayed off, blowing Wulf a cheeky kiss over his shoulder.

  Jai was hardly little or old. Six-foot-even, he could only be described as one gorgeous male specimen. He had a physique to drool over and he was strong too—otherwise he would never have coped with being Chalcey’s dance partner. And being gay didn’t prevent every red-blooded girl he met from trying to get into his pants. Even the thought of Wulf and Jai as a couple made Chalcey grin. Women all over the world would weep buckets and gnash their teeth in dismay.

  Wulf caught her by the shoulders, and with the touch of his hands, all thoughts of Jai fled. There was only Wulf. No one else mattered.

  “I have missed you these past two days, Chalcedony. Samantha told me of this celebration and I waited eagerly for the day to arrive so that I could see you again.”

  “Oh.”

  “That is all you have to say to me? I have suffered the pain of being parted from you and you say only, ‘Oh’?” He gave her a little shake and her body thrilled.

  She blinked up at him. It was a huge effort of will to shrug off the power he had over her and to prod her brain to logical thought. “Where’s Sam?”

  “Samantha is seeking other entertainments, tonight. She thought it best if she stayed away until you and I had resolved our differences.”

  “She couldn’t face me, huh?”

  Wulf shook his head. “That is not the impression I received when she brought me here. She is a complicated woman, Samantha.”

  “You and Sam. Did you—? Um, you didn’t, like, you know—”

  Her fears and doubts and the dread that overshadowed everything must have been etched on her features. Or perhaps it was the ever-so-slight tremor in her voice that she hadn’t been able to prevent, because he hugged her to his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I did not bed her, Chalcedony. She is not the woman for me.”

  “Oh.” She sighed, inhaling his unique scent, letting it curl through her. “Good. I’m glad.”

  He nuzzled her hairline. “Why are you glad?”

  “Because… because…. Just because, all right?” She pushed away from him, suddenly uneasy with the potency of her feelings for a man she barely knew. Unwilling to make any premature declarations that might make her even more vulnerable than she already was.

  “Chalcedony—”

  “Don’t push me, Wulf. This is—” She speared her fingers through her hair, tugging viciously on the ends, willing the small pain to lend her the words she needed. “I don’t know what this is. And there’re too many other things going on in my life right now—important things. I don’t know what to do about you. Just give me some time, okay?”

  His face hardened. “’Tis ironic that even though I have been waiting an eternity, I now must grant you more time. Will you risk losing this bond we share because what you feel for me scares you? Are you that cowardly?”

  “And what exactly do I feel for you, Wulf? Tell me please, ’coz I’d really like someone to explain it to me.”

  “You want to bed me as much as I want to bed you, Chalcedony. You want me inside of you. You know that is what you want.”

  “That’s not fair. I hardly know you, Wulf. You just waltz into my life and take what you want, then expect me to fall panting at your feet? I can’t deny I’m attracted to you. But I’m not a slut. I don’t do casual sex.”

  “What we have is in no way casual, Chalcedony.” And damned if he didn’t scoop her up and kiss her again. His lips had no need to punish and demand, not when hers softened and sighed open and gave him permission to plunder. He rewarded her with tenderness, with hands that cradled her nape and cupped her face like she was a precious jewel, and lips that claimed hers with the gentlest of butterfly brushes. It was not enough. She wanted more. She pressed herself against him, entwined her hands in his hair and held his head immobile while she took his mouth, thrusting with her tongue, drinking him down, until he responded in kind.

  When she came up for air, she bunched her fists in his silky sweater and struggled to catch her breath. “I wish we hadn’t done that.”

  “Why?” His blue eyes twinkled at her, smugly pleased. He knew very well why.

  “Because I can’t think straight when you kiss me, that’s why.”

  “Why?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” she said.

  “You can’t think straight because you’re mesmerized, Chalcedony,” said a clipped, I-know-it-all-and-you-need-to-shut-up-and-listen voice.

  The fine hairs on the back of Chalcey’s neck rose. Her stomach plummeted to the floor. Oh no. Not her. Not now. What the heck had she done to deserve this?

  She tried to twist around, only succeeding when Wulf finally permitted her to turn in his arms. And there she stood, in all her Ice-Queen glory. Elegantly dressed, perfectly coiffed, unnaturally composed.

  Crap. Chalcey squeezed her eyelids shut and leaned back against Wulf’s chest, grateful for his protective arms, thinking that he might just be the lesser of the two evils.

  ~~~

  Chapter Eight

  A surprise visit from her mother. Just what Chalcey needed. Not.

  They had issues. Long-standing ones that dated back to when her dad had died and had never been resolved.

  Beryl Francesca Laureano-Owens—she went by her middle name of Francesca—was Chalcey’s antithesis. Blue-eyed and svelte. No in-your-face boobs for Francesca. She was a woman who could have her pick of men, a dead ringer for those blonde Germanic beauties so often featured in glossy European magazines. Which, to Chalcey’s mind, had always made it even more surprising that she fell head over heels for a stocky, nice looking but nothing special, Puerto Rican bricklayer.

  Benigno had loved Frannie—as he called her—with a passion. And when his daughter was born, he had more than enough love for them both. Chalcey had adored her father. He had been the glue that had held his family together. And when he died, Chalcey and her mother came apart.

  Chalcey had only been ten. At first she didn’t understand why her mother could barely even look at her without flinching, why Francesca had spent more and more time hanging out in the little store she managed with her New Age friends. It was only when one of those friends commented Chalcey didn’t resemble her mother at all and had gotten
all her looks from her father, that she’d understood. It didn’t hurt any less, but at least she understood.

  And she would have forgiven her mother, too, if Francesca hadn’t remarried barely a year after losing her husband. Worse, it was to Edgar Owens, a man who was all about appearances, a man who was as polished and brittle and fake as Francesca had become.

  As a child, Chalcey had hated this man who smiled at her with her mouth, but not his eyes, and pretended to be interested in her. She would have traded all the expensive gifts he showered on her in a heartbeat for one of her dad’s hugs. But all her childish prayers for Edgar to vanish from their lives had remained unanswered. Their marriage worked—unlike Edgar’s relationship with his step-daughter. Edgar’s fussy, pedantic ways drove Chalcey up the wall and she’d left home as soon as she could stand on her own two feet. She didn’t have a clue how her mother put up with him. Evidently, if a man was rich enough, he’d always find someone willing to stick around and put up with him. Unfortunately for Chalcey, that someone had been her mother.

  “Hello Francesca,” she said. Her tone sounded as flat and colorless as she felt inside. She couldn’t help it. Her mother always made her feel inferior. “So nice of you to drop by.”

  “Chalcedony.” Francesca’s gaze skimmed her and flicked to Wulf. She eyed him with her own particular brand of speculative eyes—think drills boring through a person until they graunch on bone. “Darling.” The endearment was directed at Chalcey, but her mother’s gaze remained firmly fixed on Wulf. “Are you going to introduce me to your handsome lover?”

  “Why, no, Francesca. I don’t think I am.”

  Chalcey felt Wulf shift restlessly behind her, doubtless disconcerted by her rudeness. She didn’t gave a rat’s ass about how rude she sounded. He didn’t know her dear, darling, adorable mother. Francesca could make Sam’s mom seem like Mary Poppins.

  “I am Wulf,” he said.

  “I’m sure you are, dear,” she said. “But I’d like to know your true name.” At complete odds with her saccharine-sweet tone, her gaze was fiercely intent.

  Chalcey wondered at Wulf’s unnatural stillness—not to mention Francesca’s bizarre phrasing and emphasis on the word “true”.

  “’Tis Wulfenite.”

  Chalcey was looking directly at her mother when Wulf answered. So although Francesca quickly blanked her expression, it was too late. Chalcey had already noted her strong reaction when Wulf had given his full name.

  Fear? Loathing? Dismay? Whatever, it sure as hell piqued her curiosity.

  “And I’m Francesca. I’m delighted to meet you. Wulf.”

  Delighted, my ass, Chalcey thought. Beneath the excruciating politeness there were some major undercurrents swirling.

  “Do you mind if I whisk Chalcedony away for a minute, Wulf?” Francesca asked. “I need to speak with her.”

  Nyuh uh. No way was she dealing with her mother’s dramas right now. She had enough dramas of her very own to deal with. “I’m sure you do, Francesca,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have another demo scheduled. Because yanno, surprising as it may seem, my priority right now is promoting my new studio so I can make a decent living. I’m off to find Jai.” She shoved Wulf’s protective arms away and stalked off, hugely grateful for a valid excuse to escape her mother’s clutches.

  There was an art to pulling off a really good stalk when her skirt barely covered her butt—the same butt she just knew was swaying a heap more provocatively than she intended because of her four-inch heels. But she managed it. And she was even more proud that she didn’t glance back to see whether Wulf was noticing the aforementioned swaying butt. She’d bet anything that he was noticing. And, if there was a God, suffering.

  Her pride was short-lived. Her shoulders had tensed up and she was hunching in on herself, as always happened when her mother showed up. Francesca had a habit of arriving at the most inconvenient times. It was just like her mother to turn up now, right when life had become reeeally complicated.

  She made straight for the drinks table in search of something to bolster her courage and help her loosen up a bit. And damned if she didn’t bump into another complication. “Marcus? Uh, hi! What are you doing here?” Chalcey fixed what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face and prayed that her expression didn’t send him gibbering with terror out into the night.

  “Hey, Chalcey.” He took her hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I remembered Sam mentioned your new studio was about to open, so I tracked it down.”

  “If you’re looking for Sam—”

  “I’m not.” A muscle worked in his jaw.

  “Oh?” She allowed him the lie. “Come to check out potential dance partners or potential partners?”

  “Maybe both.” He relaxed enough to grin, at least until his gaze focused over her shoulder. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Phwoar. How many classes do I have to take before I can dance like that?”

  Chalcey swiveled on her heel to see Jai bumping and grinding with a pretty little blonde perched astride his thigh. Her tight black skirt had worked its way so far up her thighs that anyone who cared to look could see her panties. Plenty cared to look, so Chalcey could only be grateful she was wearing some.

  She watched Marcus watching Jai. Or rather, the girl. Some of her own tension eased. This she could handle. Sam had skipped out on Marcus. Made sense that he was on the prowl. And given that Marcus had never been interest in her, she wouldn’t have to worry about Wulf going all alpha on her and whupping Marcus’s ass. Things were looking up.

  “Dance like that, or with that?” she said, her tone deliberately teasing.

  “Depends,” Marcus said, turning his full attention back to Chalcey.

  “On what?” Too late she caught the gleam in his eyes.

  He swooped in, cupped her chin in his hands, and planted one right on her lips.

  She froze. Usually she’d have been thrilled to itty bitty pieces to have a guy like Marcus make a play for her. But he’d just slept with her best friend. And Sam was confused about her feelings for him. So until Sam sorted out those feelings, Marcus was off-limits.

  There was one other thing, too. A really big, quite unexpected thing. Marcus was a pretty damn fine kisser, and his kiss would normally have curled Chalcey’s toes. But she couldn’t help comparing him to Wulf. And there was no comparison.

  Drat the man. He’d better not have bloody well ruined her for any other male.

  As though magically summoned, the man of her thoughts appeared. He towered over her and his growl stroked delicious shivers up and down her bare arms. He plucked Marcus away from her and tossed him aside.

  Scenting trouble, people gathered around them. The air of gleeful anticipation was palpable. Shit. The absolute last thing that Chalcey needed was for her studio to have a rep as a place where men brawled over women.

  Dance studios were the last bastion of socially acceptable sensuality between strangers. Her students could get up close and personal with people of the opposite sex—within the strictures of the particular dance, of course—and not have their actions taken the wrong way. Partner dancing provided an opportunity to flirt and be a little bit naughty, without all the inevitable strings attached. No freaking way was she going to have everything she’d worked for ruined by some testosterone-driven display of pathetic male jealousy.

  She rounded on Wulf, pissed to the max by his inappropriate public display of possessiveness. “Just cut it out, Wulf. You don’t own me. If I want to kiss another man, I’ll kiss another man. Back off. This OTT behavior is unacceptable and I will not tolerate it in my studio. Is that clear?”

  Marcus had picked himself up off the floor. He strode over to stand beside Chalcey, providing a united front. Ironic, much? Hell yeah, considering that he was part of the problem. She didn’t dare take her gaze off Wulf, but from the corner of her eye it appeared that Marcus was fairly bristling with indignation. Great. Just freaking great.

  “Who’s this guy think he is
, Chalcey? He your boyfriend?”

  “No! He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a… a… an acquaintance who, uh, turned up at the studio needing a place to stay.” Her gaze slid from Wulf’s, unwilling to witness the impact of her words.

  But focusing on Marcus was worse. He was eyeing her like he’d decided she was some dimwitted bimbo who hadn’t the faintest idea how to look after herself. “Is that a good idea? If you don’t know him that well—”

  “Quit worrying. Sam’s looking after him and—”

  Marcus paled and jerked back like he’d been sucker punched. “He’s Sam’s boyfriend?”

  “I am Wulf. Samantha is under my protection. State your claim, or be gone.”

  “Not helping, Wulf!” Chalcey closed her eyes and rubbed the tension spot between her brows. Crap. This was so not going well. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She’d just made everything a thousand times worse.

  When she dared open them again, it was to see Wulf staring at Marcus with a semi-bored expression, like Marcus was a particularly insignificant bug, unworthy of his notice.

  “Is that right?” Marcus threw back his shoulders, puffing himself up to appear larger. The gesture was so intrinsically male, Chalcey would have laughed if she hadn’t been frantically trying to figure out how best to smooth things over and clue Marcus in without betraying Sam’s confidences.

  “That is indeed right,” Wulf said, in a fair imitation of Marcus. “In all fairness, I must warn you that in my experience Samantha requires a man who will challenge her. Not a sullen boy who seeks solace with another man’s woman.”

  Marcus’s jaw worked and his gaze flattened with rage. He lunged at Wulf.

  Chalcey darted forward in a misguided attempt to prevent an all-out brawl just as Marcus swung a punch. Bad move—real bad. Because Marcus had an impressive right hook and even though he did his utmost to pull his punch at the last instant, when his fist connected with her chin it still laid her out flat.