by J. D. Tyler
“All right, I understand. And thank you.”
“I can’t thank you, Ryon, and the Pack enough for risking so much to save me. I’m forever in your debt. If any of you ever need a good criminal attorney, I’m a phone call away.”
She laughed. “I’ll be sure they know. And you’re welcome. Like I said, you’re my friend and there’s no way I was going to leave you to your fate.”
“You’re a rare woman, Daria. I was a fool to let you go.”
“Yes, you were.”
They both laughed at that, knowing the real story. The decision to part was mutual, their lives too different, going in different directions. They would remain friends. Whether she’d ever see him again, she didn’t know. But she hoped so. Some people, like Ben, were worth holding on to.
And no one more than her amazing mate, whom she loved to distraction. He was worth any risk.
Here, with Ryon, she’d found her home at last.
Sixteen
Ryon stood at the altar, which was really a simple white archway decorated with all sorts of flowers he couldn’t name. He didn’t care—he had eyes for only one beautiful flower in the entire vicinity.
Daria walked up the aisle, escorted by her father, Charles. They were both smiling, but it was her brilliantly happy one that caught his breath. Her face was radiant. Raven hair was piled on top of her head, spilling down on the sides of her face. Brown eyes devoured him, shining with love and promise.
As they reached him, Ryon was a little nervous about taking her from the older man, but the transfer took place without a hitch. Ryon liked Charles and hadn’t really been worried since the feeling was mutual, but still. The man was “giving away” his daughter. But Charles seemed thrilled for his baby girl, and as long as she was smiling, Dad would, too.
The ceremony passed quickly, in part because they’d shortened it to the essentials. It was meaningful and not rushed, they just chose not to let it go on and on because Ryon was still healing. By the time it was over he was leaning on the handle of his cane a bit. A small ache, nothing he couldn’t bear. He was anxious to make nice with their friends.
And then get on with claiming his new bride. His wolf growled in agreement.
Soon he was kissing the bride, and didn’t release her until the audience starting hooting and catcalling, making a good-natured fuss.
“Come on, man,” Aric shouted. “There’s beer waiting!”
Everyone laughed. Ryon reluctantly stepped back from his mate. The local preacher, a friend of Sheriff Deveraux’s, announced them as husband and wife. They turned to face the crowd, and everyone cheered.
Through all the usual wedding stuff, Ryon endured his friends’ backslaps and raw jokes about the wedding night. They took loads of pictures, ate lots of food.
Zan walked over, holding a beer. The man had gotten back from his vacation to learn he’d missed a major op, and hadn’t been thrilled. But he was still learning to compensate for the loss of his hearing. He could read lips pretty well, and his speech was okay, if a little odd. The biggest issue was how he’d do once placed back in the field. They just didn’t know yet.
The Healer stopped and hugged Ryon. “Congrats!”
Ryon made sure his old friend could see his mouth. “Thanks. Having fun?”
“You bet.” He waved his bottle at their resident Fae prince. “Good thing Blue can glamour his appearance, or that might give the preacher a shock.”
“It would be entertaining, for sure.”
“Yeah. But the last thing we need is more publicity. People might find out what we really do here.”
That’s what they were all secretly afraid of. If the world knew that paranormal creatures existed—not to mention that the government had allegedly experimented on humans and shifters—the fallout would be huge.
His friend grimaced. “Sorry. This is your party, so no heavy stuff. Right?”
“Right.”
“I’m gonna go get another beer. Congrats again, man.”
“Thanks.”
Just as Zan ambled off, Ryon caught sight of Micah standing alone at the corner of the building. He was sure he glimpsed a prescription bottle in the man’s hand as he tucked it into his coat pocket. Then the younger man definitely popped something into his mouth and washed it down with his wine.
“I’m worried about him, too,” Daria whispered into his ear.
He kept his voice low. “He’s addicted, isn’t he?”
“I’m not sure, but I hope not. He’s taking a lot of pills.”
Ryon’s heart sank. His mate, however, was having none of it.
“Hey.” She stood in front of him. “This is our day. Tomorrow, we’ll see about our friends. We’ll go to Nick if you want.”
“Okay. He might not know, and he’ll be able to help us watch Micah. We should tell Rowan and Aric as well. His sister wouldn’t appreciate being kept out of the loop.”
“I agree.” Slipping her fingers into the vee of his dress shirt, she toyed with his chest. He hadn’t worn a tie, and now he was damned glad. “Let’s do the cake, then go for the icing—in our quarters.”
“Lady, I love how your dirty mind works.”
They called everyone over, tossed the garter to the guys, the bride’s bouquet to the girls. Then they cut the cake and shoved their pieces into each other’s faces, giggling. They stayed just long enough to get all their guests served, and then ducked out. Jogging toward their room, Ryon grew more and more excited.
“I didn’t tell my dad good-bye,” she said suddenly.
“He’ll still be here tomorrow. And do me a favor—do not say the word dad again once we get to our room, or you’ll wilt a perfectly nice erection.”
“I doubt anything short of nuclear war could do that.”
“Why risk it?”
Inside, Ryon left a trail of clothing—shoes, jacket, pants, shirt. When they reached their bedroom, he stood only in his socks and underwear. His mate laughed and his eyes narrowed.
“What?” she asked innocently. “You look cute.”
“I’ll show you cute.” He stripped off his briefs and his cock slapped his stomach.
Stalking her, he turned her around and went to work on the tiny zipper at the back of her dress. It was tasteful, a slim lovely column that accented her body like a glove. And he wanted it off, now.
Once she was naked, he led her to the bed, striving not to jump her like the starving wolf he was. He wanted to be gentle, but there was a greater fire tonight. A passion that wouldn’t be denied. He wanted to take charge. The answering heat in her eyes said she wanted it, too.
Pulling her onto the bed, he grasped both wrists in one hand and pulled them over her head, pinning them to the covers. He loved that position, the way it made her look vulnerable to be taken by him. At his mercy. The way it exposed her breasts to him, ripe and waiting to be sucked.
“I’m going to suck and lick every inch of you,” he asserted. “Then I’m going to slide my cock into you and fuck your sweet pussy until you scream.”
“Talk is cheap.”
Giving her a feral grin, he proceeded to do as he’d warned. Bending, he sucked her pretty nipples—one, then the other, nibbling them until they stood proud and tight. She squirmed, and he liked that.
“Don’t move your hands.”
Leaving her arms over her head, he moved lower. Licked a path down her flat tummy, to her thatch. Then lower, he mouthed the lips of her sex, chuckling when she spread her legs wider to give him better access.
“You like that, my pretty slut?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “I need you.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Eat me, please!”
With pleasure. He licked her mound, swirling his tongue until she was writhing. Twice he had to remind her to keep her hands still, and that seemed to excite her even more. Then he plunged his tongue between her folds, fucking her for a while, getting her nice and slick. He loved her taste, and pretty soon
he’d relish her blood when he claimed her again.
He suckled her clit, not letting up until she was begging, hips bucking. He knew she wanted to reach down and pull at him, but he wouldn’t let her. His control heightened the eroticism. Finally, he moved up and crouched between her legs.
Lifting her thighs, he draped her legs over his shoulders. Her ass was in the air, her sex spread and glistening. Waiting for him to master.
Mine!
Neither he nor his wolf could wait another second. Lining up his cock, he plunged into her moist, hot depths. She screamed, a sound of pure ecstasy. She loved this, craved more, and he gave it.
Cupping her ass in his hands, he pounded into her tight channel, spearing home again and again. Their joining was raw. Primal. Filled with lust and need, and the air around them reeked of pheromones and sex. It was real.
His climax built, and he felt the tingle at his spine. The tightening of his balls trying to climb into his body as it prepared for release. And then he exploded, shooting inside her again and again, the force and sheer pleasure of it almost turning him inside out. This surpassed every time before. He’d never come so hard in his life.
Lowering her to the bed, he fucked her toward release. His fangs descended and he nosed into the curve of her neck and shoulder. And struck, her blood like honey on his tongue.
Her orgasm shattered and she cried out, writhing on his rod and squeezing out more of his juices as he rode the aftershocks. At last they came down together, and he withdrew his fangs, licking the wounds closed. Then he wrapped her in his arms, her head on his chest.
“That was perfect,” he murmured, kissing her head. “I love you, my wife. My mate.”
“And I love you.” She nuzzled his chest, snuggled close. “I’m so glad we found each other.”
“Me, too. I think it was fate.”
“Same here. I never dreamed I’d meet the love of my life while studying wolves. Not to mention that he would be a wolf.” He heard the smile in her voice.
“Not long ago, you weren’t so thrilled about that.”
“I was scared,” she said simply. “Now I’m nothing but happy and in love with my mate.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, baby. Because you’re stuck with me from now on.”
“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”
Drowsy, they drifted off to the sounds of the party still in swing outside, blissed-out and at peace. Daria had completed him, had tamed his restless, lonely spirit—not to mention the real spirits that had once plagued him. He didn’t have to run anymore. She loved him, and was home with him, with the Pack, for good.
A man couldn’t ask for more.
* * *
Miles away, the white wolf sat on her haunches and howled out her grief. Her pain. She hadn’t gotten what she’d come for, her plans delayed time and again.
But soon. The day was coming when she would find peace.
That would be the day Nick Westfall paid for his sins.
In his own blood.
Turn the page for an exciting preview of the first in the
Torn Between Two Lovers e-book trilogy by Jo Davis,
RAW
Coming in October 2013 from InterMix.
Anna Claire sipped her dirty martini and observed the restaurant from her soothing darkened corner. From back here, nobody could see her slip off her Pradas under the table and stretch her aching feet.
This place was her domain, her baby. Every stick of furniture, every glass, every fork, knife, and spoon belonged to her. The staff moved as efficiently as a well-oiled machine under her ownership and also the direction of her brilliant head chef, Ethan Collingsworth. They respected her and were quite terrified of Ethan’s wrath, an arrangement that suited her just fine.
She didn’t need to be bosom buddies with her employees to be a success. Quite the opposite had proven true in her previous business experience. She merely needed intelligence, persistence, and lots of money.
Anna had plenty of all three.
Which didn’t explain why she was sitting alone in a corner booth of her own high-end New York establishment, feeling sort of down, when by all rights she should be basking in the glow of two years of hard work come to fruition, from conception to success.
Soft laughter and a tinkling of glasses drew her attention toward a table on the far side of the main dining room. A group of four was having some sort of celebratory gathering, and they looked happy as they toasted with champagne. At ease and on top of the world. A promotion perhaps or the landing of a big account. An engagement or a pregnancy. Whatever the occasion, Anna couldn’t help but feel proud that they’d chosen her restaurant for their celebration. On the way to her own table, Anna had welcomed them and told them so.
But as she watched, a sense of melancholy stole over her. Nobody had ever really celebrated Anna’s accomplishments. Even her own mother didn’t “get” her, didn’t understand what drove Anna to succeed, especially in the restaurant business. Margaret Claire was set in her ways and her thinking and never minced words. Like many parents, she had the power to make Anna bleed from hundreds of tiny invisible cuts, even if she didn’t realize it.
Her mother stared at her incredulously. “Let me get this straight—you worked hard to make that little café of yours a success, and now you’re going to just throw it away . . . spend a ton of money to open a fancy restaurant in New York City.” The older woman sighed. “Honey, you were doing well as a manager, and then you went out on a limb with the café and did all right. But this? I don’t understand why you need to take a risk this big.”
Anna’s heart froze. Was she kidding? “This restaurant has been my goal for as long as I can remember! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!”
So unbending, her mother. Such a product of her own upbringing as the daughter of a steelworker and a teacher. The Claires were good, salt-of-the-earth people who worked hard and loved harder. But the fact remained that they were also narrow-minded in their view of what equaled success—and that typically involved punching a clock nine to five and earning a retirement after forty years or so of working for someone else.
She tried again. “Mom, did it ever occur to you that employees have to work for somebody? Someone intelligent who knows their business? And that the boss might as well be me?”
Margaret Claire just stared at her daughter as though she’d spoken in tongues and sacrificed a chicken in the front yard.
“Miss Claire?”
Anna snapped to the present and blinked at the man standing in front of her table. She’d expected to see one of her waiters but instead was greeted by a tall man dressed in kitchen whites. In the dim lighting, it took her a moment to focus on his features.
He was a big man, fit and broad-shouldered, and she could only guess at the muscles hiding under the drab required uniform. His short golden brown hair was mussed in that sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed look that turned her on when a man knew how to pull it off—and this one did. His full lips quirked upward, and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, how he would taste. Brows that were a bit darker than his hair arched over expressive blue eyes, which conveyed a very male interest he couldn’t quite hide, or hadn’t bothered to, from day one.
The last idea intrigued her in spite of herself—what kind of man would hit on his boss? One who was either very stupid or very confident.
Anna had always found confident men to be extremely sexy.
“Mr. James? What can I do for you?” She made it a point to know the name of every single employee, so his came effortlessly—and the question emerged more flirty than she’d intended.
Grayson James, the new prep chef, was one rung on the ladder above the janitor of this building. At age thirty-three, he was a bit long in the tooth if he hoped to make head chef one day, but he’d come highly recommended from Le Cordon Bleu, one of the most prestigious cooking schools around. That, and his letters of recommendation from the senior partners at his former
law firm, had been enough for Anna. She’d hired him on the spot, despite a few reservations Ethan had voiced.
Who was she to hold back someone determined to follow his dream?
“Chef sent me to see if you wanted anything special for your dinner,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.
A “radio voice,” her mother would say if she were here. Anna toyed with her martini glass, trying to ignore the warmth that pooled in her middle at the sound and traveled south. The man was an employee and she had no business drooling over him, much less playing this flirtatious cat-and-mouse game with him for the past few weeks. But she supposed what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.
She cocked her head, lips curving upward. “I highly doubt Ethan did any such thing.”
He made a face. “Busted. But how else was I supposed to get away to talk to the most beautiful woman in the whole place?”
Pleasure curled through her insides. “You’ve got a big, steely pair, Mr. James. I like that.”
Something hungry, predatory, flared in his eyes and he leaned over slightly. His voice was husky as he parried her thrust. “Do you? That’s good, because I happen to like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to grab it.”
“I’m afraid of very little,” she said, eyeing him in appreciation and not bothering to hide it.
“And yet I sense you holding back with me.”
“I’m careful in every aspect of my life. A little common sense is a good thing.”
“Not when it interferes with the fun of living, I think. I guess I’ll have to make it my mission to loosen you up, boss lady.” Her brows shot up, but he didn’t wait for a response. “Would you like to order something?”
You. Naked on a platter with an apple in your mouth. “What’s Ethan’s special tonight?”
“The duck over a bed of sautéed greens, with a mushroom wine sauce drizzled on top.”
“Sounds fantastic. I’ll have that.”
“Wise choice.” The man actually winked at her and grinned. “Ethan does get testy when the patrons don’t follow his recommendations.”
