“Go back up the mountain, if they’ll have you, Claude.”
“We’re on pack lands, thief. You can’t count on the Nephilim showing up to save the day,” Claude sneered.
Cameron rumbled low in his throat. “Good. Then we don’t have to fight by their rules.”
Gabriel let out a sharp whistle. Growls rose up from behind Claude’s men as Cutthroat wolves exited the woods. Some men turned to point their weapons at the shifted werewolves.
“You’ll regret baring teeth to me, boy,” Claude hissed. He took the gun from Alfred and pointed it at Cameron’s chest.
They heard the rumble of a truck approaching before they saw it. Lights cut across the packs, and the horn split the air as it sped toward them. Brakes slammed, and the truck jolted to a halt.
“Stop!” Marie screeched and jumped from the truck. She ran between the approaching groups and stretched her arms wide between them. Her heart broke to see the pack she grew up with among Claude’s numbers. Between their count and Claude’s men, the Cutthroats seemed evenly matched. Her stomach flipped at the thought of their werewolf advantage being taken from them if whatever poison coursing through her body was shot into them. Claude would defeat them easily.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Marie,” Claude seethed.
“And you’re not supposed to be working with our enemies!” she snapped.
That got everyone’s attention. Both sides shuffled their feet and milled around. Marie swallowed hard. She needed to let everyone know what they were against, before it took them by surprise. “Claude has hunter weapons that will make you stay in human form!”
Growls pierced the night. No werewolf wanted to be caged in one form.
Cameron laughed harshly. “That’s how you aim to challenge another pack? You know you can’t win cleanly, so you’ll enlist the hunters.”
Claude swung the barrel back to point at Cameron. “You’re not worthy of a clean fight. You’re no real wolf.”
Cameron stepped forward. He nodded at Marie as he passed her. He stopped in front of Claude with the gun poking into his chest. He held his arms out to the side. Claude’s eyes shifted fearfully in his skull. “The one here who can’t be called a real wolf is the one relying on hunter weapons to keep his enemies from taking their shifted shapes.”
Gabriel called out, “Trespassers have one chance to leave.”
Some Claude’s men made a move to wade through the wolf pack. Marie heard Alfie curse, then a gunshot sounded loud in her ears.
Isaac stumbled forward, clutching his stomach.
“No!” Marie shouted and ran toward him. He fell to the ground, and she cradled his head in her arms. “What did you do, Alfie?”
Confusion broke the groups. Vehicles roared to life as some wheeled them around and down the road. Others shifted form and ran into the woods with Cameron’s wolves nipping at their heels. Still others looked around in the confusion. The rest of Cameron’s pack surrounded them.
Claude turned to Cameron, but Cameron grabbed the gun and pointed it at Claude before another shot could pierce the night.
“I’m okay,” Isaac wheezed. “See?”
Marie dashed tears from her eyes. Isaac lifted the tatters of his shirt to show his skin starting to knit together. The bullet had only nicked his side. She sighed with relief.
“Drop the weapons,” she heard Cameron call to the leftovers.
“I choose you, Isaac,” Marie whispered. She stroked her hand over his cheek. “I don’t need a pack leader. I don’t need someone telling me who to be with. I just need you.”
Isaac smiled through gritted teeth. “That’s not just guilt because your brother shot me, is it?”
“We’ll see in the morning,” she teased, and lowered her face next to his. Pine and spices comforted her over the sharp smell of his blood. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”
Cameron was addressing the leftovers of Claude’s attack by the time she helped Isaac struggle to his feet. She scanned the crowd, but couldn’t spot Alfred. She recognized many of those left as inhabitants of the small mountain pack.
“You’re welcome to stay with us if you agree to live by our rules. Those who don’t will be turned over to the Nephilim.”
Gabriel nodded at the others and said quietly to Cameron, “With all due respect, boss, but we can’t take in every stray wolf needing a home.”
A cleared throat grabbed their attention. An elderly man made his way to the front. “If you don’t mind, sir. We’d rather go live out the rest of our days in our home. It’s what most of us have known since we was pups. We’re not made for fancy city life. And for the others, I think we can keep our eyes on them. No need for the godlings to get involved. They won’t be a bother to no one.”
“Vernon, why?” Marie asked softly. It bothered her to see her old pack among Claude’s numbers, knowing that her parents likely died rather than cave to his will. Where was their pride? Why hadn’t they risen up and pushed back at the craziness?
The man looked pained. “He promised to let us have our wolves back if we accepted him as our pack leader. Then he told us we needed to prove our loyalty after they,” he nodded at Cameron and Gabriel, “visited. He’d take us off the injections if we agreed to help him challenge the Ross pack.”
“These injections, they are the same loaded into the weapons? The ones that keep you locked in human form?” Gabriel asked.
Vernon nodded. “It’s temporary. Twelve hour doses, it seemed. We was all assigned to be watched and never miss a dose. It’s why he wanted us to fight like cowards, and not with tooth and claw.”
“I think he was going to give everyone up to the hunters who gave him the stuff,” Marie said.
Cameron considered it for a moment, then nodded. “He’d have to make the bargain with them somehow. Though I doubt they’d let him hand over just some wolves. I think they’d take the ones he offered, and then take everyone else.”
Isaac groaned, and all eyes shifted to him. “I’m taking him inside,” Marie said.
Chapter Eight
Inside and past the inquisitor Tiana, who gave them a knowing smile when Marie insisted Isaac needed to recover, Marie helped him into their shared bathroom. She let the water heat to an almost unbearable temperature before plugging the tub and letting the water fill.
She tugged at the hem of his shirt until he lifted his arms. The fabric was ruined from the bullet, and smelled strongly of gunpowder and blood. She threw it into the trash.
“Hey!” Isaac protested.
Marie crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Pants.”
He struggled with the button until she couldn’t keep her grin contained. “I’ve just been shot, woman!” He defended himself.
She relented, and undid the button for him. She dropped to her knees and pulled the jeans and boxers down. She pressed her face to his thigh, and then eyed up his body. He looked down hungrily at her as his erection stirred.
“You’ve just been shot,” she said sweetly. “Tub, now.”
Isaac groaned, but didn’t protest.
She followed him to the edge of the tub, and winced as the water around his wound turned a light pink. The skin puckered angrily, but had stopped leaking blood.
She grabbed the loofa and doused it with soap. She started with his shoulders, scrubbing until his dark skin was almost hidden with bubbles. Down his back, then across his chest. She dunked the scrub under the water and gently touched around his wound.
He looped a strong arm around her waist and pulled her in with him.
Sputtering, she pushed the mess of wet hair out of her face and glared at him. “That wasn’t nice!”
“We’ll just need to get you out of those wet clothes, then.”
“Feeling better, are you?”
The water surged as Isaac rose to his knees. His skin had sealed together, but his abdomen had turned vicious shades of purple and blue. The water surged again as he sat down. “Much.”
His insistent hands pulled her wet shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor where it landed with a sloppy smack. She pulled off shoes and socks, and dropped them to the ground. She struggled to push her jeans over her curves. The material was desperate to cling to her skin in the water. Finally, she was just as naked as her Isaac.
“Give me the scrub,” he said, reaching for it. “Your turn. You’ve been running around in the woods all day. You deserve to relax.”
The words were sweet, but she wanted to disagree. He’d been shot. Her ordeal paled in comparison. Her arguments died on her tongue the moment his large hands rubbed into sore shoulder muscles. He moved her hair over her shoulder, and she turned her back to him.
One hand rubbed her muscles while the other scrubbed her back. Then the loofa was floating past her, and his free hand slipped between her arm and body to slowly circle her nipple.
She leaned into him, and both hands reached around her to caress her skin. His fingers circled her areolas in tightening spirals until his fingers pinched at her peaked nipples.
She writhed against him, desperately, shamelessly, wanting more contact.
He turned her around and reached again for the loofa. His erection broke the surface of the water like a sexy periscope. She giggled, then the giggle turned to a soft moan as the scrub hit between her legs just right.
She caught him in her hands. Her fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, and she tightened her grasp as she stroked upward.
He surged forward, pressing between her thighs. His tip pressed nestled between her entrance. Just a small movement and he would be settling inside her.
His lips caught hers, then he snuffled his way down her neck. His breath felt chilly on her skin, compared to the heat rising from the water. “Let’s dry off, beautiful,” he said.
He lifted out of the water, and she eyed his powerful muscles. His thighs clenched in the movement, and she gaped at the beauty of it. Every part of his body worked with the others as a flawless machine. She knew the hard planes of his chest would burn deliciously at her touch.
Isaac dried slowly, letting her watch him, then offered her a hand. He wrapped a clean towel around her back and dried her arms. His hands ran over her shoulders and pushed her hair away from her face. The brown locks were almost black from the water. He dropped to his knees and worked the water off her legs, sneaking kisses on her stomach and waist. He rose, and lifted her as well, cradling her with arms around her shoulders and under her knees.
Marie squeaked when Isaac dumped her onto the bed. She bounced, then he was on her. His body heat warmed her skin, and the weight of him felt right. His considerable length rested on her stomach, searing her flesh like a hot rod ready to give her everything she wanted.
He feasted on her mouth. Teeth and tongue explored her lips before delving further in. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden rush, and arched into him to deepen the kiss. He rumbled a wordless approval.
When he pulled back, his half-lidded gaze tracked down her body, followed by one of his hands. They’d been together before, he’d seen and feasted on her before, but she’d never felt as exposed to him as she did then. He saw her, and she opened her body and soul to him.
Marie squeezed her knees together and choked back a moan when his captured hand turned and touched her clit. He stroked her, and slid a stiff finger between her folds. Her legs butterflied open and she raised her hips to take more of him.
He added another finger, and they curled into a spot designed to make her jump. His thumb rubbed at her swollen nub that was begging for attention. Combined, Marie was panting within moments.
“Tell me you need me,” Isaac growled.
Marie saw the spark of his wolf in his eyes, and it only served to make her wetter. “I need you,” she whimpered.
With a strangled curse, Isaac impaled her. Scorching hot, his stroked into her wet passage and out again. He set a hard pace, pounding her into the bed until they bounced back on one another. He hauled one of her legs higher into the crook of his arm, and she moaned at the extra length of him.
She gripped his strong shoulders, letting her nails play out over his skin. Her teeth found his throat and she nipped at the skin. He palmed a breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers until the whirl of release was on her.
She clenched around him, as tight as her lips holding back the scream that wanted to rip through her. His hand slammed against the wall behind them as he, too, shuddered in his climax.
His arms wrapped around her back and held her close as they panted to catch their breath. The gesture was tender, and claimed her as his own. Marie sighed. It was exactly what she wanted.
“You know we probably haven’t seen the last of them.” Isaac murmured into her neck.
She pushed him and loomed over him, resting her hands on his chest and looking him in the eye. The chocolate pools searched her face. “Let them come. Let them try and get between us. I’ll fight until my dying breath if they try to tear us apart.”
Isaac growled protectively, and pulled her close. His hands buried in her hair as he deepened their kiss.
The Doctor and the Wolf
Cutthroat City Wolves #4
Lyra Valentine
Months after his betrayal of his pack and family, Alfred du Lac is held captive by a group known as the American Wolf Protection League. AmWo sounds innocuous enough, but Alfred knows they desire only one thing - the eradication of all werewolves.
Curvy English transplant Dr. Andrea Lambart finds herself in a troubling spot. Driven by a desire to help those plagued by lycanthropy, she created a serum that locks a werewolf into human form. To refine the formula, she needs Alfred, the wolf she captured on a mission with AmWo.
Alfred makes her knees weak and her pulse race, even though she tries to convince herself it’s only because he has a wolf lurking beneath his skin. When an experiment goes wrong, she has Alfred moved to her quarters for closer, uninterrupted observation. Instead, she finds herself drawn to the brooding werewolf more powerfully than ever before.
When the leader of AmWo finds out about her dalliance with the recently unleashed Alfred, Andrea is banished from the camp and unable to protect Alfred from a plan that will change the otherworld forever. Will Alfred survive exposing werewolves to the public? Can Andrea steal him back from the clutches of AmWo before it’s too late?
Chapter One
It’d been twenty-nine days since the last full moon. He’d been with the hunters for one full shift, and then some. Alfred rolled his shoulders back. He could feel the call of lunar event upon him. His nerves were fraying, and he could feel his wolf getting restless in anticipation. It wouldn’t be long before the hunters filled him full of their drugs and watched him from behind their thick glass wall.
The last full moon, they left him alone. Even though the room was inescapable, none wanted to risk going inside while he was in full possession of his shifting powers. They wouldn’t enter the room for days before or after, and left him alone with a supply of water and cans of beans. The drugs left his system, and he was able to shift again. It was glorious to let his wolf take back over. He stretched long legs, and howled into the sliver of night sky he could see from the high slit in the wall. No one heard him call. He beat at the door, the glass wall, everything he could reach. No one came to rescue him. He was alone.
They dosed him back up with a shot through the sliding peephole in the thick door. They wanted baseline reaction to his infection, the little hunter wench told him when he was receiving visitors again. Next month, she said, they would continue his round of the cure and see how he reacted during the lunar cycle. He read between the lines. They wanted to know if his uncontrollable shift during the full moon was controllable on their drugs. He didn’t appreciate being their guinea pig.
A screech from down the hallway made him sit up. That was the noise that preceded a visit. It wasn’t time for another injection. He looked at the remains of his breakfast on the tray near the door.
It wasn’t time for a feeding, either. He wouldn’t give the hunters the satisfaction of craning his neck to try getting a glimpse of the unexpected visitor. He sat on his cot with legs crossed, and waited.
Keys jangled in the lock, and the door slid back into the wall. There was no hiding behind it, or using it to swing into someone as a weapon. He was sure the glass wall always had someone monitoring him, too. The hunters were good at keeping someone locked in a cage.
A woman entered, bracketed by two large men with guns. They looked bored to be on doctor duty. But she always looked interested. She liked puzzles, from what he’d gathered. And his kind was a great puzzle she wanted to solve.
Lambart, the tag on her coat said. Dr. Andrea Lambart, though he wasn’t sure of the accuracy of the title. The hunters seemed to take titles like they took shifters.
Dr. Lambart was a mousy little thing, from her mousy brown hair bobbing at her shoulders to the thick glasses she continually pushed up her nose. His mother always said not to play with his food, but he wanted to see the little mouse run before putting his paws on her.
She was dressed up today, he noticed. Her coat hit her bare legs, when usually she wore jeans that cupped her curves. The slightly lifted shoes made her calves look longer than they were. What was the occasion for the skirt and blouse? Not knowing made him nervous. A change in their patterns could be dangerous for him.
“Good morning, Alfred,” Andrea said.
He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the crisp British accent that always sent his knees knocking. She was one of the few women who ever made him sit up and take notice. She smelled of lavender this morning. There was a hint of mint underneath. She didn’t usually wear anything more than the lavender.
“Dr. Lambart,” he answered.
She frowned, and a furrow appeared just above her eyebrows. “You know you can call me Andrea.”
It was the same argument every time she came to see him. “I prefer not to associate with my captors.”
Cutthroat City Wolves Volume 1: BBW Werewolf Shifter Paranormal Romance Page 12
