Captive Wolf (Werewolf Erotic Romance) (Amber in Darkness #1)

by Julianne Reyer

  She smiled. "Of course."

  Despite the moods flaring from each person she passed, she had been looking forward to this. There had been a time when she couldn't wait to get into college—as was probably true of most normal teenagers, yearning for freedom. But to her, that expectation had been especially poignant, a bright promise on the horizon that she might have a future someday.

  School had always come easy, almost effortless, and it was the one place where she knew she belonged. The place where things made sense and she wasn't a freak. She'd never been able to say the same for her home life.

  It had all happened so quickly. Her mother remarried, and she had no illusions about that—her stepfather didn't much like her. Then the trauma of moving, a new school, no friends. And finally her new twin brothers were born. They were perfect, of course, nothing like the troubled, angst-ridden teenage girl she'd become, sneaking out late at night to turn into a wolf.

  It was on one of those nights that her stepfather had caught her climbing back in through her window. The wild pent-up urgency seemed to fluctuate with the cycles of the moon, and she hadn't been able to resist it. She just had to go out for a run: to get the living, breathing beast out of her system. But she couldn't tell him that, of course, so she stared dumbly at her feet as he screamed at her: calling her "stupid slut", because, obviously, she was going out at night to meet boys.

  He never hit her, but it might have been easier if he had. Instead, he denigrated her until she saw herself as worthless, hopeless. Every moment spent at home was filled with tortuous arguments and agonizing emotions. Worse than that were the dark things she sensed under his anger, hot-blooded jealousy, lecherous desires. The things no one talked about, but they made her shiver at night.

  She couldn't wait to get out of that house. To get away from those thoughts that stretched her sensitivities thin. That made the frantic beast claw at her mind. She set out to prove that her parents couldn't control her.

  Then on her eighteenth birthday, they changed the locks. Which was fine at first; she needed to get away from them, those malignant emotions, eating away at her. Then reality set in, and with nowhere to go, her dreams of college were over.

  Now she was just happy for the chance to look through some books. At the very least, maybe Austin would let her check a few out so she could spend more time reading at the old mansion.

  "I'll only be a few minutes," he said before turning to hike up the wide spiral staircase.

  She flitted from bookcase to bookcase, glancing at subjects with aimless mania. Computer science, chemistry, philosophy, English lit; she wanted to learn them all. But there were so many and she only had two arms.

  She froze as she was plucking her fourth book from the stacks: a compendium of early American history that looked nothing like what she'd studied back in high school. But suddenly that didn't matter. She let the books slip from her arms to the floor.

  Blood. The scent cut through her senses, sharp, glaring. She hissed out a long breath. Surely, it was nothing. Someone must have a bloody nose. Or they'd pricked a finger on something. She was just being jumpy, and unused to being around so many people. Good thing Austin isn't here.

  She ducked down the aisle and rounded a corner following the acute scent of copper. And as she closed in, there were other smells as well. Hot metal, gasoline, liquor, and…

  Her eyes widened and her legs froze as she spotted a man with unruly dark hair, sitting at one of the study desks. He wore a dusty leather jacket and a shallow scrape decorated his brow. A frown tightened his angular jaw as he stared down at the papers spread out before him. His posture was neutral, if not a bit tense, but his emotions assaulted her with the force of a raging inferno. Anger and despair swirled off him, thrashing like a storm over an endless void.

  She clutched her throat as she recognized who he was. Or rather what he was. Fear stretched her lips back, exposing her teeth.

  Then he looked up and turned in her direction, slowly, with the grace of a predator, zeroing in on her as if he smelled her. Fuck, she thought with horror. Of course his senses would be as sharp as her own.

  With a quick turn, she strode down another aisle. Thorns of panic constricted her, biting into her chest. She'd never seen him before, nor anyone like him—like her. But she recognized him immediately. Trouble. There was no getting around it. Her only hope was to escape and never see him again.

  Her steps quickened and before long, she was running.

  She raced down the rows and up random aisles until she reached a dark corner of the library that was thankfully empty. But his hot emotions trailed in her mind like fading scars, lingering with his musky scent. Sweat over freshly turned earth. Blood mired in shadow. Guarded. Fierce.

  Seconds stretched, and then minutes. Her heart pounded and her breath heaved in her chest, but there were no footsteps behind her.

  Trying to regain her focus, to think of something other than him, she looked up at the shelves. The books were unfamiliar here, their spines all bearing letters she didn't recognize: maybe Russian or Greek. She slid one out and flipped it open.

  It was musty and the pages were yellow but the artwork was interesting. In one panel, a brilliant sunset framed a rider who struggled to control his panicking horse, with a whip raised to the wolf loping next to him.

  A chill crawled up her spine as the sense of raw desire welled in her chest. She held her breath as it intensified within her. Her eyes dilated, her pulse raced. It was the hand of a survivor on the edge of a cliff. The hunter's finger pressed to the trigger. Saliva dripping from the mouth of a ravenous beast. And it was not her own.

  "I know what you are."

  She gasped and took a step back from the bookcase. Dark eyes stared back at her from the adjacent aisle, through the hole where the book had been.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  She turned on her heel, looking for the quickest way out, but a hand snaked between the bookshelves and caught her wrist.

  "Don't be afraid," he whispered.

  "Let me go," she snarled. Then she yanked back and his body slammed against the bookcase. But he held on while cursing with annoyance.

  "Get away from me," she spat.

  "Easy!" he hissed. "I just want to talk."

  "You need to go, now. Before it's too late." She twisted her arm, straining his fingers.

  "Wait a second." He gritted his teeth. "What are you af—"

  Her teeth scraped over his knuckles before sinking into the soft flesh in between.

  "Shit!" His hand recoiled through the shelf and books tumbled to the floor.

  She sprinted down the row. If she made it back to the busy common area of the library, where there were people around, he would have to leave her alone.

  But as she rounded a corner, his solid form flashed in front of her. She crashed against his hard chest and his firm fingers caught her arms. The musty old book tumbled to the ground, forgotten.

  Frustration seethed from him like dense plumes of smoke. "Give me a second to—"

  She twisted in his grasp and her knee shot up, striking him between his legs. He grunted as they struggled but he pinned her arm around, turning her so he held her from behind. His breath blew against her ear, his chest unyielding against her back. Panting, she relented to his restraint.

  "Damn, you're strong." He leaned against her, one arm holding her hand pinned over her stomach, the other bending her elbow behind her.

  "Is this how you normally pick up women?"

  "What?" He swallowed. "No. I just wanted to ask who changed you."

  She glanced over her shoulder, squinting back at him. "No one."

  He cocked his head. "What?"

  "I was born like this."

  A monsoon of emotion spilled from him: confusion, fear, jealousy. She closed her eyes as she braced against the torrent. Then she glanced up.

  Austin stood at the other end of the aisle, his face contorted in disbelief.

  "Oh, my
God." She struggled against the stranger and he quickly released her. "Austin. This wasn't my fault. I wasn't—"

  He raised his hand. Then his expression softened and a subtle smile curved his lips. "You met a new friend," he said cheerfully.

  As Austin casually approached the two, the man in the leather jacket ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were—" He coughed into his hand, embarrassment wafting off him. "Is he your boyfriend?"

  She opened her mouth. But she hesitated as she glanced between the men.

  "She wishes." Austin chuckled and extended his hand. "My name's Austin Laurent."

  "Scott. Scott Blackwood."

  As the two men shook, Austin's tongue passed over his lips, his pale green eyes focused on Scott's knuckles, where bright droplets of blood oozed from her bite.

  She cleared her throat. "He's gay."

  Austin raised his eyebrow. "And you've already met my awkward friend, Amber."

  Scott rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

  Amber giggled despite her anxiety. "I'm not afraid of you. I didn't know if…" Her eyes flicked to Austin.

  "It's fine, dear." Austin's eyes trailed down Scott's body. "We are in a bit of a rush at the moment, Mister Blackwood. But I would be delighted if you'd join us this evening."

  Amber gasped. "You don't mean—"

  He shook his head, his brow creasing with annoyance. "No. I mean the club."

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Scott glanced between them, his brows raised. "I'm leaving town this afternoon."

  Austin frowned. "Surely you can stay one more night?"

  "Are you going to be there?" Scott fixed his gaze on Amber.

  She lowered her eyes and nodded.

  His desire returned with a vengeance, brushing her mind like a rough lover.

  "Possibly," Scott replied.

  "Here." Austin handed him a card. "We'll be there around nine."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  Austin gently hooked his arm around Amber's waist and steered her toward the main room. "I hope you do," he called over his shoulder.

  ***

  Scott quirked a bitter grin as the two left. It was just as well that he'd ended up with more questions than answers. But that was life, he supposed. Plus he had bigger quarry to hunt.

  The wounds had closed up soon after he left the bar, and now there weren't even scabs. Just bruises and knots of pink flesh that itched under his clean shirt. He could still smell his own blood though. That was a cloying, intimate scent which he knew all too well.

  Strange day. Though not his worst by a long shot. At least he had a motorcycle and a leather jacket to show for it.

  He gathered the papers and made a brief stop at the copier. Then he trudged upstairs to the small group of secluded offices.

  The graduate student was still hunched over his desk, making furious swipes with his pen.

  "Thanks for letting me look this over." Scott plopped the files on the table, next to the tall stack of graded papers.

  The man glanced up through his thick glasses, his young eyes accented by stress lines. "Sorry you missed Professor Bauersfeld. Hopefully you found something interesting in his ramblings."

  "I think I did." Scott chuckled under his breath.

  The man slipped his glasses off and cleared his throat. "No one's even asked about this nonsense since I started working under him. Curious that you're the second person to come looking for him today."

  Scott arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Blond, pale, nice smile?"

  "Yeah." The chair creaked as the student leaned back. "Why are you interested in this urban legend bullshit anyway?"

  Scott cracked a grin as he turned to the door. "Call it morbid curiosity."

  Outside, Scott carefully slipped the copies into his side bag, then mounted the large, cherry red motorcycle. But as he searched for his keys in the unfamiliar jacket, his fingers brushed the little card. Flipping it in his hand, he read the flowery script. "The Feather Duster," complete with a stylized icon of a feather at the end of a whip.

  It looked like some kind of fetish night at the local eighteen-and-up club. He couldn't deny the temptation. It was his scene after all, even if this was just college kids fooling around. God, the things he could show them—if he'd been here for pleasure, which he wasn't. Well, if nothing else, it confirmed that the strange pair were legal. He hadn't been inclined to ask, though he had to admit that part of him wanted to.

  But he pushed that thought out of his head. He had a fresh lead and he didn't need more distractions right now.

  The grad student had done him a big favor, though the man hadn't realized it. Scott was certain that it would have been different if the professor had actually waited for him. Some of those files were marked with bold warnings against duplication and privacy disclaimers. And yet the jaded young assistant had given them all to him without a second glance.

  So, of course, Scott had copied them, at least the ones that seemed the most glaringly out of place: gene sequencing and what appeared to be information about a synthesized virus. He'd expected to talk to Professor Bauersfeld about legends and lore, maybe discuss UFO sightings and Bigfoot before they broached the subjects of shapeshifters and magic.

  He hadn't expected to find records of bioengineering experiments, real data, and oblique references to werewolves—though they were obvious enough if you knew what you were looking at. But now he had another problem. His instincts told him this was a treasure trove at his fingertips, but the bitter, distrusting edge of his nature whispered "Pandora's box" in the back of his mind. And he wasn't knowledgeable enough to know which was true.

  This might be the one time he regretted all those years spent in humanities classes, and his contemptuous disdain for science. How could he have known that a professor of mythology, with an unhealthy fascination for paranormal studies, would lead him in this strange direction?

  The other photocopy he'd made had the town of "Pitch" circled with red ink. The memo itself was vague but Scott surmised it to be the location of some kind of laboratory, maybe even the source of this data.

  Pitch was two states away, but that could be covered in only a few day's ride. The closeness, the urgency, the tantalizing promise of answers, burned in his blood. Scott loathed to delay his departure. That's not an option, he told himself. But his thoughts were tricky, scheming against him, and they led his mind in a circuitous route: back to Amber and Austin.

  Even their names had an intriguing ring, like the words would roll off his tongue if he said them out loud—which he wasn't going to do. Why did she say I needed to leave before it was too late?

  He shook his head and revved the earthshaking engine to life. No. No more distractions. He needed to get out of this godforsaken town.

  As Scott wove the motorcycle along the winding highway, he organized the steps for his next move. He would be off the mountain in half an hour, checked out of the motel in fifteen minutes, a quick stop at a gas station and he could be on his way. If he drove non-stop, he could be there by tomorrow night. Then another seedy hotel and more days patiently staking out the town. His first goal would be to find the connection between the professor and the town. After that he'd have to play it by ear.

  The bigger picture was murky and Scott couldn't shake the feeling that he had only one frayed piece of the overall puzzle. Maybe Grayson was right.

  Scott frowned; he didn't want to rethink that decision. He'd left for a reason. Despite what the strange werewolf might have taught him about the secrets of the occult, or werewolves, or magic, none of that mattered. He couldn't give the one answer that Scott needed, the singular purpose burning brighter than all his dark memories. How to put an end to the curse?

  Grayson, and his mate, Diana, had saved Scott from a nightmare scenario and the near-loss of his mind. While he didn't want to diminish the fact that he was grateful, that was as far as it went. Just one step beyond, and
there was a line in the sand.

  Scott ground his teeth. No matter what the old man had done, Scott was not about to trust a mystic. Manipulation of elements outside the bounds of perception was not something that sat well with him. It was too easy. Corruptible. Like cheating at cards. Or Rohypnol. Neither of which were his style, so he would have to do this alone.

  The smell of lilacs flared briefly in his sinuses.

  Scott clenched the brakes and the bike slid sideways, leaving a puff of gray smoke and black streaks on the asphalt. The car behind him swerved to avoid him as the driver leaned on his horn. But he ignored the minor annoyance. Instead his gaze fixed on a lonely road leading up from the highway.

  Amber. The girl with golden eyes that echoed her name: piercing, molten, but sad. Her smell had lingered on his jacket, tempting him with a primitive hunger that churned fast and thick in his blood. It took all his concentration to crush it, forcing it back into the furthest reaches of his mind. Even then, it was clear that she'd sensed it earlier, judging from her flushed face and the way her body had, just for a fleeting moment, molded into his arms.

  He hadn't been with a woman in a long time, not since before the curse and a whole world of suffering. Sure he'd had girlfriends in the past, even one who still pained him when he remembered her smile. He'd loved her more than he had any right to.

  But he'd always sought the company of men too; those hookups were usually quick and rough—enough to satisfy his dominant streak. The two aspects of his desires didn't harmonize well, so as life got more complicated, he'd spent more time with guys. Truthfully, men wore their needs close to the surface; they were straightforward and blatant, which made everything easier.

  He'd seen that in Austin's gaze today, and under any other circumstances he might have pursued it. After all, the boy was his type: slender build, youthful masculinity, enthralling green eyes. But strangely, he hadn't given it a second thought. In fact, part of him had been relieved when the two of them left.

  But now, faced with the memory, he recognized his dilemma. He'd been so close to leaving town without thinking of her again.