by Wolf (lit)
He threw a wry smile in her direction. “The garden. It hasn’t been tended in a while, but there were a few things that came up from the last year’s seeds. Unfortunately, this is most of it, but I think there’ll be enough to make another meal.”
Sylvie breathed in the scent appreciatively. “It smells wonderful!”
He stood up. “Guess it’ll be an improvement over just meat.”
“Oh the cookouts we’ve been having were great, too!” Sylvie said hurriedly. “But it’ll be nice to have something different, you know.”
“Cookouts?” Cavanaugh chuckled. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.”
He moved from the hearth to the window and began yanking at the shutters, trying to disentangle them from the vines. A few minutes later, Beau and Mac also came in, Beau to work on the other window shutter while Mac checked out the door. They were all half rotted and hanging by their hinges, but the men managed to close them and wedge them into the openings to at least partially seal up the cabin.
Mac lingered after Beau and Cavanaugh left. “We got the shower working—sort of. If you want a bath, you should do it before it’s too dark to see out. The water’s like ice, FYI,” he said wryly.
Sylvie blinked at him. As thrilling as the suggestion of a ‘sort of’ shower was, it seemed clear that the guys were leaving.
“We’ll be gone a little while, but you’ll be safe here.” He grinned. “Don’t let the stew burn. We’ll be hungry enough by the time we get back to eat you if you burn the stew.”
Sylvie chuckled dutifully at his joke, but she was uneasy about being left. Shrugging it off the best she could, she finished cleaning what she could and headed outside to check out the shower. It wasn’t just outdoors, it was outside. It looked as if there’d been a privacy wall of some kind at one time, but that was gone. It also unnerved her that the water source was a huge barrel above the crude spout that she would have to stand under.
The toilet was an outhouse—not flushable—but it still beat squatting in the woods—not much! Having made use of it, she went outside the little rickety cubicle that provided damned little privacy and studied the ‘shower’. There was a small stone floor beneath it. A piece of rope led upward to a valve of some kind. When she pulled on it, a narrow stream of icy cold water hit her right on the top of the head. Sucking in a sharp breath, she released the pull and sloughed the water out of her face.
She hadn’t thought to undress before she checked the damned thing out! Her clothes were soaked. After glaring at them a few moments, she pulled them off and headed to the ‘laundry’. There wasn’t much soap left. She’d used most of it on the cover, but she sacrificed a little more to clean her shirt and pants, wrung them out and took them inside to hang them near the hearth to dry.
She felt more than a little uneasy strolling around the place buck naked, but the guys were gone, she reminded herself. She had the place to herself.
Back at the shower again, she braced herself and released another avalanche of water then took what was left of the soap and did her best to cover everything. There wasn’t much lather for her hair once she’d scrubbed everything else, but a little was still better than none. It was almost more torture than bathing in the streams had been—it was damn sure colder water!—but it was also cleaner. For the first time since she’d left the boat, she actually felt clean.
There was nothing to dry off with. The cover was mostly dry, though, and she snatched it off the brush, shook it to make sure nothing was crawling on it and wrapped up in it. She’d used the straight back chairs to hang up her shirt and pants so she draped the cover over the table and moved to ‘bake’ herself dry in front of the fireplace.
* * * *
Mac studied his opponent as he unfastened his fatigues and slipped out of them. He’d been in enough battles with Hawk to know him fairly well, to know how he fought and what his weaknesses were, but he’d fought beside him before, not against him. His leadership of the pack was riding on this and, just as importantly, his claim on Sylvie. Hawk wanted her—bad. He was going to be vicious, but his focus was on Sylvie and that meant he wasn’t going to be able to be coolheaded.
If it came to that, he wasn’t exactly coolheaded where Sylvie was concerned himself, but he figured he still had the advantage. He was just going to have to convince Hawk that he was running things—still.
Hawk gaped at him for a moment in surprise when he undressed but finally shrugged and skimmed out of his trousers.
Mac glanced at Beau and Cavanaugh. “When we’re done here, you have the option of challenging the victor.”
Beau and Cavanaugh both stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Shit!” Cavanaugh muttered. “I ain’t got no aspirations of leading this motley crew even if I felt like letting you kick my ass. And I don’t.”
“Doan look at me, mon ami!” Beau said, grinning. “I’m satisfied to let you do all the worryin’.”
Satisfaction settled in him. Nodding, Mac faced Hawk again and called the change. The moment he felt it begin, he saw Hawk call his own beast to the fore. Snarling a challenge, he bristled, curling his lips back from his teeth. Hawk issued a counter challenge and they began to circle one another, looking for an opening to attack. He saw his opening first. Hawk had taken up an offensive stance and was more focused on watching him than paying attention to his surroundings. The moment Hawk stumbled, he leapt at him.
They tangled, twisting around and around, rolling, biting and clawing at one another, but Mac failed to lock his jaws around Hawk’s neck. After a moment, they broke apart and began circling one another again. Hawk was more cautious now, but that worked against him just as his inattention to his surroundings had before. Mac used his senses to ‘feel’ out his surroundings and kept his gaze locked with Hawk’s. The moment Hawk’s gaze flickered to one side for a quick look, he charged again.
That time, he managed to catch Hawk by the throat, but he moved faster than Mac had anticipated. He didn’t get a good grip and Hawk was away again. Hawk recovered faster and nipped at his throat, narrowly missing him.
For nearly ten minutes they charged one another, tangled briefly, doing as much damage as they could and then breaking apart. Hawk began to tire. Mac sensed it in the slowing of his reflexes.
And then Hawk made his biggest mistake. He allowed his anger to get the better of him. It wasn’t a bad maneuver considering he was tiring and knew it, but as vicious as his assault was, he left himself wide open. Ignoring the pain as Hawk caught his shoulder between his jaws, Mac whipped his head around and clamped down on Hawk’s throat, bearing down until Hawk was forced to release his own grip.
Tightening his jaws threateningly, Mac bore him to the ground and held him there until he felt the fight go out of him. The moment he did, he eased his chokehold, allowing him just enough breath to realize he couldn’t free himself without having his throat torn out.
Hawk panted, unwilling to yield, trying to gather enough strength for a last ditch attempt to throw Mac off. Mac braced himself, snarling a warning.
For several moments, Hawk struggled with his fury and his pride and finally yielded. Mac held him down a few moments more and finally released him.
Hawk immediately made an abortive attempt to leap to his feet, but when Mac snarled a warning, he subsided and lay panting for breath. He stood over him, rigid with warning for a few moments more and finally backed off, allowing him to rise.
Hawk glared at him balefully when he’d shifted back into his human form.
Ignoring him, Mac stalked across the small clearing and retrieved his trousers. “I’m ready for some of that stew,” he said casually. “Let’s hope it’s done and Sylvie didn’t forget to watch it.” He looked down at himself and added wryly when he saw he was bloody all over, “guess I should hit the shower first.”
Beau and Cavanaugh, expressing similar sentiments, got up to follow him. Mac turned to look at Hawk. “Don’t let Sylvie see you like that. It would upset her
.”
Still furious, Hawk sat back down once he’d put his pants on. It took a while for his anger, and his aches and pains, to dull enough to begin to consider the situation he’d found himself in. Reluctantly, he admitted Mac had a far better disposition to be a leader. He hadn’t actually wanted to lead. Like Beau and Cavanaugh, he knew he was better at taking orders than giving them and he didn’t want the responsibility of deciding everybody’s fate—which was what Mac had to do.
He wanted Sylvie, though, he thought, dropping his head in his hands. It was driving him crazy. It would’ve been bad enough just having to look at her, being around her, without being able to touch, but knowing Mac was every chance he got made it worse. He couldn’t even think straight anymore. He supposed challenging Mac was proof positive of it.
He didn’t think he was going to be able to handle staying and watching the two of them together. Unfortunately, he also didn’t think he could bring himself to leave, and what would be the point? It was his imagination that was tormenting him the most, and he’d be taking that with him.
Beyond that, he felt a tie to the others than he couldn’t entirely understand. They’d been buddies for years, of course, and in and out of some pretty hairy situations together where their very lives depended upon how well they worked together as a team. He’d always felt a stronger bond with them than anyone else in his life, but this seemed … different.
* * * *
In some ways, it almost felt ‘wrong’ to feel so much contentment over what was really fairly minor comforts, but there was no denying the sense of satisfaction that wafted through Sylvie when she finally settled on the lumpy, and still malodorous mattress atop the slightly fresher quilt.
The stew had made the most fabulous meal she’d ever tasted. She’d eaten enough to be uncomfortably full although, fortunately, she’d had enough sense to stop before she was miserable.
The guys had helped, she thought wryly, vaguely amazed that they could put away so much food and still look so fit.
She was still bare-assed, and that wasn’t so comfortable. The t-shirt had dried fairly quickly and she’d managed to get back in to it before the men had returned. The sweats were still soggy, though. She wasn’t happy about it, and she was more than a little afraid that Mac would object vocally to her running around in nothing but a t-shirt, but she just couldn’t face wearing the wet pants. The t-shirt, she’d reasoned, covered everything. It was bigger on her than it had been to start with—stretched out and more shapeless. But it covered her from neck to mid-thigh. That ought to be enough, she reasoned.
Mac had looked her over somewhat skeptically, but once he’d tested the pants, he hadn’t said anything.
The other three had looked like they might actually jump her—which had unnerved her—but except for staring at her hungrily every time she moved and drew their attention, they’d tried to ignore what must surely seem to them to be deliberate provocation.
She’d been relieved when everyone finally found a place to park for the night and settled down. She hadn’t asked about the bed, but it was clear they meant for her to have it.
She tensed when Mac climbed in with her, but the cabin was drafty in spite of the fact that it was more protection from the elements than she’d had for a while. She was glad he’d joined her. She needed a full body warmer.
It didn’t take long to figure out he had more than sleeping in mind, though. Her mind went chaotic with shock when he’d settled beside her and very casually slipped his hand beneath the t-shirt. She tensed all over. With the best will in the world, she couldn’t convince herself that the others were asleep and she didn’t know what to think about Mac being so blatant.
Trying to convince herself he really didn’t intend to do anything except ‘play’, she held perfectly still, trying not to make a sound while he leisurely explored her.
* * * *
Triumph was still singing in his veins when Mac settled beside Sylvie, that and possessiveness. He’d established his dominance and the fact that Sylvie was his. He wasn’t certain why he felt the need to reinforce that within view of them so that there were no lingering doubts, but the urge to do it was riding him.
She tensed when he touched her and he felt her doubts, but the need to stake his claim only became more pronounced. Sylvie, he realized, needed to accept him, as well, as the man who owned her.
Ignoring her warning signals, he pushed her shirt up so that he could see her, not just touch, focusing for several moments only merely enjoying the feel of her soft skin. It occurred to him after a few moments, though, that there was something different about her scent and whatever it was, it was setting his blood on fire.
Curious, he leaned closer, snuffling between her breasts and then nuzzling his face against her belly when he couldn’t identify what that something was. The faint scent of soap was confusing him—that and the fact that he felt drunk with the lust raging through him, disoriented.
As he nuzzled her belly, though, he discovered the scent was stronger and a vague thought formed in his mind that he couldn’t quite capture.
Sitting up abruptly, he pulled her t-shirt off altogether and tossed it on the floor. He didn’t want anything between him and her. Shifting down on the bed, he grasped her thighs and pushed them wide. She resisted briefly but gave up at his insistence. The moment she yielded, he settled between her legs, sucking at her soft belly and then moving lower, searching for what it was that he wanted, that he felt such a driving hunger to have. When he burrowed his face against her cleft, he knew what the scent was that was driving him crazy.
She was fertile.
He didn’t know how he knew, but he smelled it on her and his mind went wild. For many moments, he thought he was going to shift. He didn’t. He managed to hold on to his human form, but he felt his mind shift, felt his grasp on his human side slip from his control.
That tiny seed of life was his. She was his, he thought dizzily, but it wasn’t enough. His pack brothers would need to seed her, as well. She would have to give them more.
And he knew, without knowing how he knew, how to coax them from her.
He had to prepare her first, though. Settling between her thighs, he lathed her cleft with his tongue. She bucked against him, tried to scoot away, to close her legs. He threaded his arms beneath her knees and grabbed her wrists, pushing against her until her hips curled upward, exposing her fully, preventing her the leverage to struggle. The moment he had her pinned, he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked on it.
She gasped, bucked against him again, but realized it was futile to try to fight him.
Satisfaction flickered through him when she yielded. He caught her sweet little clit firmly in his mouth and began to tease it, driving her toward climax. She gasped, groaned, and fought him until she was shaking all over, but he knew she’d already yielded to him. The tension was pleasure and she was mindless with it.
He nearly came himself when he realized that. Instead, he ignored his need to burrow his dick inside of her and pump into her until he released his seed. This need was more important.
He suckled at her clit and tormented her until she abruptly stiffened. Her entire body bowed. A long, low moan escaped her.
For a few moments more, he continued to suckle her clit, waiting until she reached the very peak of her climax and began to utter breathless little cries of rapture. He released his hold on her clit then and found the spot, the tender skin on her inner thigh where the blood pulsed heavily. Sinking his teeth into her, he sucked the sting away when she screamed and then lathed it with his tongue to release the hormones into her that would make her yield what he wanted—more of her ova.
He moved over her when she went limp, driving his dick into her still quaking pussy, grinding his teeth when he felt the resistance of her flesh. He was too desperate for finesse, too mindless with the burning need to capture that first tiny seed for himself. He struggled against the clinging walls of her channel until he’d burrowed as d
eeply inside of her as he could and then set a frantic pace. She came again. He felt her body convulse around his and when it did, it milked the seed from him in a scalding fountain. He kept pumping his hips until he couldn’t pump any more into her and finally collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath.
He sensed her confusion when she finally recovered enough for reality to creep in to her mind. Heaving himself off of her with an effort, he settled on his side and dragged her limp form against his length, pulling as much of the quilt over them as he could.
To his relief, she clung to him—for comfort he knew. The madness seemed to have left him. In its wake, he felt remorse warring with the sense of triumph. He stroked her back, calming her, reassuring her. When she finally relaxed against him in sleep, he relaxed, as well.
Contentment settled inside of him. He’d bred her, sown his seed in her belly, not merely expended it. She was his, and now she knew it, too.
Chapter Eleven
Sylvie didn’t know what to think about what Mac had done the night before beyond embarrassed to meet the other men’s gazes. It actually wasn’t as much of a problem, though, as she’d expected it would be.
They woke her leaving the cabin the next morning before it was even daylight. She was too groggy then to remember what had transpired the night before and merely curled up, snuggling in to the warm spot Mac had left and drifting off to sleep again.
It all flooded back as soon as she did wake up, however.
With extremely mixed feelings, she peered outside. When she didn’t see any sign of the men, she headed back to the ‘bathroom’ to perform her morning ritual. The shower was a real eye-opener so early in the morning! She was sticky from sex, though, and lingered long enough to clean up before dashing back inside, drying herself with the cover, and then pulling her clothes on.
There was still plenty of cleaning to do regardless of her efforts most of the previous day, and she tried to focus on that. It didn’t occupy her mind as completely as she’d hoped. Memories teased her and her imagination teased her almost as much because she couldn’t prevent herself from thinking about the show Mac had put on for the others.
