by Talyn Scott
Burn Sanibel
Vampire Werewolf Ménage
Fanged Romance Series Book 2
Talyn Scott
www.talynscott.com
Prologue
He might as well be on the moon. He was that far from her. No, he didn't love her, not yet. Yes, he couldn't leave her. No, he hadn't tasted her. Damned if he didn't want to. He wasn't human; even so, he was behaving with human decency, morality or something that he couldn't yet name. Not that humans were anything to emulate, they weren't. An innocent, a virgin, subdued his demeanor. More than it seems, more than can be denied; he didn't want to scare her. Him. He was the Beta of the North American Pack that scared the hell out of everyone. Him. The werewolf with the soil of hell under his claws hadn't marked what was his. She belonged to him and no one else, or so he hoped. He wanted to break the rules, wanted to keep her from the others; but, no, that wasn't happening. She would be exposed and hunted, just like any good little innocent that didn't know there were other worlds intertwining her perfect human existence.
Dragging a black claw across the Spanish, clay tile, Bane prowled the roof of his mate. She was dreaming again. Dreaming of the hunt, he assumed. Bane wished that he could count the number of beasts who pursued her in her dreams, and then he would know. He had his unique ways. However, entering dreams wasn't his forte. Without a doubt, he was a monster. In all forms, he was cold, calculating, bestial, ruthless, and sexually devastating. So how was this whip of a girl going to compete with any of that?
“You could always back off, then she wouldn't have to compete with your darkness,” his voice preceded his body.
“You fucker, get off the damned roof,” Bane expelled a warning growl. In half transition, he had somewhat control over his werewolf. Somewhat. The beast didn’t want another male around what was his. And what shouldn't be around her was a leech.
“We're not doing the whole 'You're a Beta - I'm a Vampire' thing again tonight, are we?”
“We could make it our last night,” Bane bared his face to the moon, canines elongating. “Have you tapped her vein? I swear to you, truce, or no truce; I'll risk the wrath of your coven and stake your sorry ass.”
“I could ask you the same.” Dru stepped forward, studied his competition. Night after night, they had been meeting like this. Neither one of them ever backed down. Both could easily kill the other.
“No, I haven't tapped her.” Bane’s teeth interrupted the quietness of the sleepy neighborhood, a strong snap that would break the neck of small prey or an annoying vampire. “I don't live off the blood of others.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Dru lifted a broad shoulder and let it drop. “You just suck for sexual gratification, sorry that my appetite offends. Really sorry I drink to survive, not conquer.”
Bane wasn't playing any longer. “If you aren’t going to cooperate and be useful,” he threw a knowing glare at the leech, “then go away. A fall from a roof may not kill you, but I’ll enjoy it immensely.”
“Cooperate?” Dru ignored the rest of Bane’s useless mouth dribble.
“You,” Bane slashed a claw in the dark air, “can get in her head and count the beasts. I’m sick of waiting for the moon to claim my right.”
“I can get in her head,” Dru met the cold steel of his blue eyes. “But you, my friend, can get into her body without as much as a touch. Who has the true advantage?”
Bane tried to bring it back to casual. No point in letting the sucker realize how desperate the beast was tonight, or every other night, since smelling Renee’s arousal. “An agreement then,” he conceded. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, “I will enter a contract with you.”
“Finally,” Dru rolled his tongue over his left fang, his favorite. “It’s been done before,” he shook his head and reached out a palm.
Reluctantly, Bane pushed his wolf down and righted himself to meet Dru, other to other. “To my mate, Renee Shirley,” he bared his canines.
“To my bride, Renee Shirley,” Dru hissed and fang flashed.
“To share forever,” Bane continued, fighting to tamp the ire of his animal.
Dru found that amusing, and vowed, “After we find the other.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bane released a warning growl and then fully transformed. Leaping off the roof, he avoided a stupid act inevitably caused by the beast.
“Werewolves and their drama,” Dru rolled his eyes and watched Bane's wolf disappear into the night. “I have to share my bride with two, lucky me,” he glided off the roof and entered Renee's dwelling. If you could call it that, he shook his head and hushed the canine. How he wished he didn't have to deal with canines. Now, he had to share the only bride given to him by nature with two werewolves. He wondered if the other was as much of a selfish asshole as Bane. Then, after stepping into the threshold of his bride's bedchamber, he didn't care. There laid the woman whom he loved. Yes, he loved her. It happened when a vamp found his bride, instantaneously. No thoughts of wolves, contracts, or sharing remained in his mind. His stomach twisted in anticipation. Her pets left quietly. They knew better than to mess with him. Just how many were there?
He cocked his head, avoiding counting heartbeats, and brought his concentration back to the arch of her pale throat. Lying on the pillow, she was a vision. Her pulse, slow and languid, called to him in a silent scream: Drink of me, and he would.
His first taste, he salivated in anticipation.
It was a private moment that he would never share with a werewolf, a fellow mate, or whatever they were going to call it. It was between him and his bride. He wasn't drinking for nutrition tonight, not filling his belly. He was drinking for pleasure in its purest form. He was drinking for solid communion with his beloved. After she awoke from her scattered dreams, the ones speaking of wolves chasing her through the wetlands, she would feel a slight sting in her vein. A warmness not overshadowed by any other. It would be a heat of the flesh, a binding: a raw oneness that would meet them soul to soul with just one taste.
Dru flicked his tongue over his parched lips. Not caused from hunger, but from mouth-drying, blatant lust, he bent forward. Inhaling sharply, he fully scented her. His love, his bride, his sexual novitiate was warm and fragrant. Her blood called to him on levels that he was only beginning to understand. Brushing a raven lock of hair from Renee's throat, he nuzzled her jaw, slowly licked the line of her jugular, and penetrated her body. Buttery flesh, hot tang, wet passion dripped to the depths of his throat. No other taste, no one had been this delicious, this satisfying. He knew, beyond a doubt, that the only thing that could make it better - he took another swallow, couldn't help it - would be if his cock had penetrated her, as well. But that would come soon. Now, he would sate himself.
Reaching his zipper, not relinquishing his oral hold, he pulled out his aching shaft. He touched the supersensitive skin of his over-tight sex. So enlarged and engorged, he was hardened to a ruthlessly impending orgasm. Near time, oh yes, he elongated a fingernail and raked it on the underside of his cock. It was a tear of his skin, a bite of pain, another lap at his bride, a streak of red, and an explosion of seed. Lost, he was so lost to her. Lost and found forever, Dru shuddered and released his bite. Licking the wound closed, he knew. He would do anything that she asked, anything... except let her go.
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Title
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Epilogue
1
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Nooooo.”
“Yes.” Begging, begging, please, he so desired her. Beneath his species to ask, just couldn’t help it.
“I can't stay in the car,” she complained between kisses, pushing away his roaming hand.
He had a brilliant suggestion, one he’d repeated for the last half hour. “Let’s go inside.” Experienced lips brushed her ear, sharing her shiver. Smelling her yummiest, Dru urgently needed to touch, taste, and thoroughly explore his bride. Did he mention that he needed to taste? Exceedingly hungry, he was swallowing sand in a scorching desert. Renee’s continual effects on his fangs were merciless. They were throbbing, aching, and yearning to sink into her delicious flesh. Come in the house; let your man come in you.
“It’s completely dark in there and it’s getting late.”
Of course, she was deflecting – she bravely and stupidly lived alone in a crime-infested neighborhood. Where’s the comparison? “I have a security system, sensor lights, and a black belt.” Somewhere in the back of his closet, he had a few. One was dressy and matched perfectly with his favorite tuxedo.
Did he mention that his home was worth millions? One of a kind art held up the walls. Designer fabrics draped the furniture; a fifteenth-century bed sensually dressed in silken sheets awaited her body, his blushing bride.
It was hers for the taking.
Only a small payment was necessary in exchange. Not much actually, her delectable blood and enthralling body for eternity would do quite nicely. Of course, already, he knew Renee, and his obscene wealth wouldn’t impress her one bit. Precisely as Bren had warned, she was a dynamic gypsy, a touch eccentric and motivated purely by compassion. Independently strong and not frightened of domineering, huge men, she was sassy. Dru loved sassy. Strong emotion improved the blood, flavoring it with that added zing…delicious.
Backing away quickly, she smacked an elbow against the passenger door handle. “It’s only been a couple of weeks or so,” she said while rubbing her arm.
Sixteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-six minutes, he gripped the steering wheel, imprinting fingertips. Hey, who was counting? “Yes, well, we could have a glass of wine and talk.” Share the bottle, pretend to drink, and watch her get tipsy. Then….No, that wasn’t right. At least, he didn’t think so, blood in the wrong place. He could hammer nails with it; build a new house in seconds. Many times, many nails, thrusting them in and out, he could do it.
“The view is amazing.” She adjusted her skirt, putting everything back in place.
“You wanted to see it, remember? Your wish and all that,” he thrust his fingers through his hair, even his scalp was frustrated. He heard her thoughts loud and clear. Renee hasn’t endured a panic attack lately. Since they were unpredictable, one might come at any moment, ruining the moment. When an attack came about, it tightened her throat, numbed her face, and tunneled through her vision, often causing her to scream. Dear God, his poor bride was a mess.
“I did, thank you. I haven’t been to Captiva Island in a while.”
“You’re on Sanibel often, you say. There’s just a small bridge between the two.” Come his way, she could visit anytime…stay forever.
“Yeah, Tatum, my sister, lives there.”
Of course, Dru couldn’t help but pull a James Bond again, mentally spying. He heard: My sister who lives with two guys, she reddened with the thought. If she were to have a serious relationship, she would have to divulge that bit of info. She shouldn’t care or feel uncomfortable. Tatum was happy, finally. She deserved it more than anyone did. Even so, others were traditional, locked into rules that denoted a one-man one-woman relationship. Was Dru that way? Would he judge her family, running away in utter disgust?
In many eyes, no rules should bend or break between consenting adults. They would kick you, bringing you to your knees for the mere thought of it. Jayce and Bren would never allow anything to happen to her sister, and that was the coolest part. They would keep the hurtful trash away. So whatever their relationship, whatever their future, she knew Tatum would be protected from it all.
She wasn’t an ancient traditionalist; women roared. They conquered. They succeeded. They provided for themselves, leaping gigantic buildings with a single bound.
Good Lord, he was losing her. Thoughts of women’s rights and atypical relationships threaded her brain…roaring. Maybe that was her inner Were talking. Dru calculated; Renee was an approximate one-quarter lycanthrope. She wouldn’t be able to change, a plus in his book. Not that he didn’t love every inch of her. Who wouldn’t? “Why don’t we meet up with your sister, invite her to dinner one night soon.” Meet the rest of the family, that’s what he needed to do, a common, mortal act of courtship.
“I’ll see what she’s up to.”
“Renee,” hoarsely, his voice reached an all-time groveling. Lips going back to their favorite spot, traveling across that tiny blue vein his fangs had tapped forever ago, he lightly suckled. “Let me pleasure you.” Under her blouse, his fingertips scaled her spine, stopping at each indentation…worshiping.
Uh-huh. “Ah, ah, not so soon,” she breathed, though, she would love to feel him pleasure her.
“You know; I think you would love to feel my pleasure.” Nothing like a mental chess match, he’d read her mind, winning the game before it started.
She stilled, getting that uneasy feeling, which caused her to run every time.
Shit, he scared her. Never able to play with the humans when he was a child he still couldn’t as an adult. Dru caressed her face, mouth lingering on the side of her neck. “It’s alright, Renee. I’ll take you home.” Safe, she didn’t feel comfortable with him…or something was amiss, something he knew nothing about. No matter, he would find out soon. He always did. Dru reluctantly conceded, starting the car and heading for Fort Myers.
“Thanks for that, I had a great time. Those tickets must have cost a fortune. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it all the same.”
Hundreds were a penny to Dru. “Purely selfish, I wanted you to enjoy yourself, which enabled me to enjoy myself.” Always wanting her happiness, he’d be the first to admit that tonight was particularly difficult. Never had he attended an authentic Beatles concert when they toured, didn’t desire to. So the knock offs they sat through tonight for three hours tested his patience.
Stann Theater only held a few thousand patrons at any given time. This evening, the auditorium entertained bellowing, drunken humans at maximum capacity. Each with his or her vocal version, not to mention tone-deaf musical scale, for all songs performed. A campfire sing-along had met a tree-hugging, hippie powwow. From behind, a burping idiot with a fake cockney accent had actually asked him for a paper, not for an autograph – but to roll his weed. Dru had then studied all fire exits longingly.
Wanting to commandeer his bride and make a run for it after the first fifteen minutes they’d arrived, a single occurrence changed his mind. Renee started to dance, and then, all blistering performances and music gone awry had melted away. Decked out as a retro go-go dancer, plastic peek-a-boo patches strategically embellished Renee’s tiny dress. He loved the dress, though a privacy issue rankled. All skimpy clothing attached to his bride required her behind a closed door displayed for him only.
Renee was incredibly sexy and, thankfully, well endowed. Hardly, if ever, had she worn anything this revealing with him. What did she thr
ow on when he wasn’t around? Plastic wrap immediately came to mind.
Alongside this matter, men had openly stared, drooling with desire. Human cattle he could have slaughtered with a pinky finger while standing on his head with his eyes closed. He should have. Glared at every single one of them with unspoken threats, if they tried it, they were dead. Horny males shouldn’t leer at his bride, and certainly not make an attempt at her. What were they, suicidal? Proud of his forbearance this night, Dru hadn’t killed even one. How’s that for maturity?
Hearing the steering wheel rattle in protest, he loosened his angry grip. Through all his mental meandering, Renee remained silent. He’d hit Mcgregor Boulevard in record time, thirty minutes from Captiva. Long moments lost in thought always happened when with his bride, and were always about his bride. Before Renee, time hung over his head, thickened like fog, taunting his endurance, stretching his patience. Hindsight, he should have slowed the car, taken extra time to talk. However, the more he thought of the mortals, the more agitated he became – leading to a heavy foot on the gas pedal.
